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BEULAH AND OTFIER POEMS 




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BEULAH 

AND OTHER POEMS 



BY 



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E. B. PRICE 



i 3 109; _ / 



CHICAGO 

Laird & Lee, Publishers 
1891 






Entered according to act of Congress in the year eighteen hundred and 
ninety-one, by E. B. Price, in the office of the Librarian of Con- 
gress, at Washington, D. C. 

ALL RIGHTS RESKRVED. 



TO 

MARY HOPKINS PRICE 

MY WIFE 

PRIDE OF MY EARLY MANHOOD 

SOLACE AND COUNSELOR IN LIFE'S AFTERNOON 

AND BEST FRIEND ALWAYS 

THIS VOLUME 

IS LOVINGLY INSCRIBED 



INDEX 



Dedication 5 

THE POET'S AIMS 9 

I Seek No Poet's Fame 11 

Why Do I Write? 12 

Fame. 13 

BEULAH— A Poem in Six Cantos , 15 

LOVE AND HOME 87 

Our Childhood's Home 89 

Will You Meet Me? 90 

The Old Love and the New 93 

Gone 95 

Of What is Grandmother Thinking? 97 

PATRIOTIC 99 

Keep the Banner Flying 101 

My Country, Right or Wrong 103 

My Iowa 105 

Thirty Years Ago. (Read at the Old Settlers' Reunion, Lehigh, 

Iowa, July 4, 1890.) 110 

PHILOSOPHICAL 119 

7 



8 INDEX 

Youth and Age 121 

Contentment 124 

The Mystical Hand and Links 125 

Alone 127 

Is IT Right? 130 

Evening Thoughts 133 

Is There Rest? 135 

There Is Rest 137 

A Look Beyond — A Dream 138 

PICTORIAL 143 

Only a Teacher 145 

School Is Out 148 

A Pen-picture 140 

HUMORISTIC 155 

Carving a Christmas-duck 157 

The Doctors 161 

Deacon Huff A School Episode 106 

That Surplus! 170 

"By Tam But I ish Mad" .171 

The Tender- foot and the Cactus 172 

How Larry Got a Drink 1 73 



THE POET'S AIMS 



I seek no poet's fame: 
Yet could I write my name 

With bards of sweetest song, 
None other earthly prize 
To me could ere suffice 

For such a crown. 

I claim no poet's power: 
I only seek to cull a flower 

Grown wild upon the plain: — 
And to my friends an offering make: 
If they but prize it for my sake, 

I have not writ in vain. 



Wliy do I write? Because my soul 
Burns with a warm desire, 

And as I sing an unseen Hand 
Strikes chords upon my lyre. 

I do not hear the sweet-toned voice 
That woos in rhythmic air; 

I only feel my heart rejoice 
To know it lingers there. 

I cannot see the gentle touch 
That on the Harp-string lingers; 

I only feel it to be such, 

As falls from magic fingers. 

Tis thus I write, impelled to do 
The Muse's known desire — 

And as I sing an unseen Hand 
Strikes chords upon my lyre. 



FAME. 

I long to mount to the apex of Fame 
To write on the hight of Distinction my name; 
To be honored by nations, beloved by good men 
O! point me the way to so noble an end. 

Will Riches endow me with laurels I crave? 
Will they crown me in life or garland my grave? 
Will the clinking of Silver or luster of Gold 
The beauties of Fame to my vision unfold? 

Will Learning award me the Fame that I prize? 
Is the meed of True Greatness reserved for the wise? 
Will Learning alone place my feet on the peak, 
On the hilltop of Fame I so ardently seek? 

Would Power to Command as great leaders of old 
Secure this rare gem of a value untold? 
Should I ride over fields of the dying and dead, 
Would the garland I covet be placed on my head? 

****** 
13 



14 THE POETS AIMS 

By none of these was ever reached the prize 

Your heart so covets, O ! my son be wise; 

True Fame, my son, is something higher, better far 

Than these can give: it is a Star 

Whose glory is not bought with Gold, 

Whose beauties Learning never yet hath told. 

Nor Power its brilliant rays controlled. 

That Star is Virtue; keep it well in sight, 
Then head thy ship toward that beacon light, 
^Twill prove thy cloud by day and lamp by night. 

Virtue with Learning and with Power allied 
Will launch you safely on the swelling tide: 
Hold fast to these, then let the billows roll; 
Thy ship is manned and under full control : 
Let storms arise, they're stilled at His behest — 
Thy goal is won — Thy feet are on the crest. 



BEULAH; 

A POEM IN SIX CANTOS 



BEULAH. 
CANTO I. 

THE BRIDAL MORN. 



Above the wooded Eastern height 

Dart streaks of parti-colored light; 

A picture in the heavens displayed 

Of Light triumphant over shade; 

Upon the ambient morning air, 

Float melodies surpassing fair; 

A chorus rich in every note 

Is piped from feathered songsters' throat- 

A Matin-song, exultant lay. 

That ushers in the new-born day. 



But sweeter far than song of bird 
Among the trembling branches heard, 
And softer than the hum of bees. 
Or sough of wind among the trees. 
Or rippling chime of dashing streams, 
Or melodies oft heard in dreams; 
17 



18 BEULAH 

III. 

Sweeter than these. Notes of delight 
That burst like sun-beams warm and bright, 
As tho' some heart with gladness pent 
Had ope'd to give the gladness vent; 
As tho' December, bleak and gra}^, 
Rejoiced to be the guest of May. 

IV. 

(Just over where the willows lave, 
And toilets make in glassy v/ave, 
A little Brooklet — cr3^stal fair — 
In wantonness glides here and there. 
Coquetting with the flowery banks. 
Trilling love-songs to the rushes, 
And playing pert and saucy pranks 
Until each little Blue-bell blushes.) 

V. 

Here Beulah stood, this early morn, 
Kissed by breezes that kissed the corn; 
Each Httle zephyr "wooed like a lover" 
In amorous circles around and above her — 
Kissed every linger, patted her head, 
Fanned each cheek to a beautiful red. 



BEULAH 19 

Carmined her lips, entangled her hair, 
Hied away laughing to — who knows where? 

VI. 

And Beulah sang. Well she might. 
Would this not be her bridal night? 
This day bears Love upon its wings. 
And Love is in the song she sings: 
The notes that softly rose and fell 
Were such as pen can feebly tell. 

VII. 

Lives there a Pen can paint a sigh, 

Of grief or sadness floating b}^. 

Or tell how bitter is the tear 

That falls upon a loved one's bier? 

As well attempt to measure bliss 

That's garnered from a stolen kiss — 

Or with an artist's hand to paint 

The joys that thrill the soul of saint — 

As to portray by pen or art 

The raptured strains from Beulah' s heart. 

VIII. 

At this same hour among the hills, 



20 BEULAH 

And darksome mines and smoking kilns, 
And rush and roar of mighty mills, 
A young man stood with anxious face — 
Apollo form, Adonis grace. 
Impatient — minutes seemed an age — 
Awaiting there the west-bound stage. 

IX. 

Our story opens farback 

Before the shining iron track 

Had broke the rugged mountain's back, 

Or, spanning rivers deep and wide. 

Made East and West a Groom and Bride, 

Or stretched from North to sun-kissed Soutli 

With olive branches in its mouth; 

Ere Steed of monstrous size and mien, 

With lungs of fire and coat of sheen. 

Sped o'er our plains of boundless green — 

With nostrils of Titanic size 

From which dense clouds of vapor rise; 

With, eyes of incandescent light 

That pierce the deepest gloom of night, 

A stride beyond Hi'watha's best. 

Whilst Heel a' s fires glow in its breast. 



BEULAH 21 

X. 

It opens when the Old Stage Coach 
Stood "par excellence ' — beyond reproach — 
With speed per hour, six miles or less, 
GilL-lettered thus — "U. S. Express." 
To-day the passengers await 
The Old Stage Coach — one hour too late. 
At last from top of distant hill 
The coachman blows his horn with will, 
A signal known to all about; 
Those within are soon without — 
Women and children, dolt and sage — 
All come out to see the stage. 

XI. 

One among the awaiting throng 

Springs lightly to his place; 
Observe the Hero of our song, 

His active manly grace ; 
In each detail of manhood strong — 
His frank and open face. 
Ready, Crack! the horses spring — 
Away they go with steady swing, 
The Jehu prouder far than Jove, 
His steeds like those Pegasus drove, 



BEULAH 

Feet well braced and lines drawn tight, 
He never swerves to left or right. 
The passengers begin to chatter 
Of every known and unknown matter. 
Unmindful of the roar and rattle 

That deafened every ear — 
'Twas all the same — on went the prattle- 
Some talked of corn, and some of cattle- 

And some of home and cheer. 

XII. 

Edgar Merton spake to each 
Of those within in friendly speech. 
He looked away among the hills, 
He saw the smoke rise from the mills, 
And from the many hundred kilns 
That light the Keystone State; 
There he had striven hard and late- 
Labored as only labor few, 
And they with worthy end in view; 
There by the lamp's pale flickering glare- 
Lungs impelled by poisoned air, 
Heaving chest and arms all bare, 
Smoke begrimed — he toiled away 
And welcomed each recurring day; 



BEULAH 23 

XIII. 
Each sturdy stroke before his eyes 
Appeared a rich and glittering prize; 
That prize was his determined goal, 
Steered his heart, inspired his soul, 
Dispelled each rising fear or doubt, 
And evil phantoms put to rout. 
The human heart is strong to bear, 
Sustained by Hope's inspiring prayer- 
Bereft of Hope's triumphant stay 
Clouds rise to dim the brightest day— 

XIV 

The scenes that passed to Edgar's view 
Were clothed in garments, rich and new; 
The granite peaks reared high in air 
Were Castles, rich and grandly fair, 
Beside whose base a winding stream 

Seemed fair as Oriental dream; 

The song of birds oft heard before 

A new and softer cadence bore; 

The rock-girt farms on bare hill-side 

Spread out like meadows far and wide; 

The modest farm-house by the spring 

Was like the Palace of a King; 



24 • BEULAH 

The breezes which upon him blew 
Were as distilled from flowers and dew. 

XV. 

But wh)^ the objects thus so bright 

That passed athwart young Merton's sight? 

I only know, that ere the West 

Had put the Sun away to rest 

Beyond the Sierras' towering crest — 
That Edgar hoped with honest pride 
To claim his long-expected bride 

And Crown her first and best. 



CANTO II. 



Wedlock! Man's purest, best estate, 
Wherein great hope of future lies. 

Two souls united in one Fate, 

But bound by love's enduring ties — 
Clouds linger not above their skies — 

Sorrow may come — perchance a tear 
May fall — a moan or stffled sigh 

Be heard around some loved one's bier; 
Yet, when the soul in agony doth cry, 
How sweet to have a true companion by. 

II. 

When Ceres, laughing, kindly smiles 
Upon the worthy Sons of Toil, 

Whose labor thro' the year beguiles 
The fruitage from the Virgin Soil, 
(And none who dares his wealth despoil;)- 
35 



26 BEUL^H 

To lay these trophies at the side 
Of her who guarded well his home, 

Is pure and most exalted pride — 

Unknown to those who far and idly roam, 
And in Domestic Joys see only foam. 

III. 

No chime of wedding bells rang out 

On Edgar Merton's Bridal day; 
No wild acclaim or joyous shout 

Re-echoed from the hills away; 

But gentle Music held its sway. 
And sweetest notes at the behest 

Of Love swelled into richest strains, 
As tho' fresh loosed from downy breast 

Of countless minstrels of the plains — 

Such chords once touched the harmony remains. 

IV. 

How swiftly fly the weeks and days, 

When days and weeks have been assigned 

For genial work or sportive plays 
To be enjoyed, and then resigned; 
But when the weary anxious mind 

Awaits some long expected prize — 



BEULAH 27 

With fevered pulse and heart aglow — 
That ever floats before his eyes, 

Each moment drags its length so very slow, 
One marvels much that they should linger so; 

V. 

But older grown, the notes that thrilled 

Our inmost soul with joy intense, 
Now by the sweetest warbler trilled 

Pall as they burst upon the sense, 

And when the summons to go hence 
Is heard — a dolorous voice of dark dismay, 

That calls aloud as Time goes by— 
A year is as a fleeting day; 

So swiftly do the years and minutes fly 

When man's allotted days on earth are nigh. 

VI. 

They passed the time, from day to day. 

In sweet accord beside the stream, 
Then from the winding mountain way 

Engaged the brook's resplendent gleam, 

And youth's ecstatic morning dream 
Framed divers plans, built Castles rare. 

As those of Oriental Spain. 



28 BEULAH 

Descending from the clouds and air, 
Discoursed of future hopes and aim — 
The half of which I will not try to name. 

VII. 

Edgar's toil in years now that passed 
A goodly recompense had lent; 

Not large the total sum amassed 
Yet quite enough to bring content. 
For this his stalwart form had bent 

Beneath full many a grievous load; 
For this his heart had oft times bled 

At insults that proud spirits goad 

Into resentment, which evil passion, fed 
Into a flame, grows warm and red. 

VIII. 

His yearly savings had been stored 

In village bank for safety there — 
Augmented monthly — never lowered — 

He had One Thousand for his share; 

And that they might their wants compare, 
With means possessed, so not to wreck 

Their ship upon the Shoals of Debt, 
Edgar produced his worn Deposit Check; 



BEULAH 29 

It showed One Thousand, sure, in lines of Jet 
And signed by Bank Cashier, J. C. Monette. 

IX. 

When Beulah's eyes descried the name, 

Writ on the margin, and the scroll, 
There spread across her cheek a flame 

She could not hide, nor yet control; 

'Twas not the blush of shame — her soul 
Was pure in every thought and deed; 

Now changed the hue to Paros Marble, white, 
She trembles like a broken reed. 

Or dove in peril, and in sore affright 

Of eagle's wing and talons close in sight. 

X. 

When Beulah saw the hated name 

Of one Monette, before her eyes, 
In Terror's garb distinctly came 

A scene she could no way disguise. 

She knew the path where honor lies — 
Resting upon her husband's heart 

Made known the cause of her dismay. 
And why a fear had caused the smart 

That drove all hope for a brief time away, 

And bid dark Night replace the smiling Day. 



30 BEULAH 

XI. 

MoNETTE was brought to Beulah's home, 
Lame of limb, in sore distress. 

Just as the night began to gloam, 
And day assume its evening dress. 
Who could do more? Who would do less? 

Her uncle bathed the injured limb 

And bade him welcome whilst he stayed, 

And Beulah rendered unto him 
The kindly service of a gentle maid — 
But not a service such as could degrade. 

XII. 

t Recovered soon, unmindful of the debt 
He owed for help and friendly care. 

He planned to weave a subtile net, 
And Beulah in its meshes snare; 
But through the tinsel and the glare 

She saw the dark abyss below. 

Along whose brink her feet would stray, 

Where only thorns and briars grow, 

And dragons crouch beside the slimy way. 
To rend and tear the unsuspecting prey. 



BEULAH SI 

XIII. 

She stood aghast! It could not be 

That, in her gentle ministration, 
Her kindness was construed too free 

For one who filled her humble station? 

Forbid the thought ! Proud indignation 
Paled her face like that of death, 

A frigid tremor coursed each vein 
And chilled ea«h gasping, panting breath: 
"Monster! Go! Thy presence burns upon my brain — 
'Tis such as thee, on Manhood, casts a stain." 

XIV. 

At her rebuke the scheming culprit fled, 

As tho' Old Jove in ire had hurled 
Around his vain, deceitful head 

The lightnings of an angry world; 

But ere he left his lips were curled 
Into a fierce Brigandish style. 

Then on her cast a look of demon hate 
That merged into an Arctic smile 

Before he passed the creaking garden gate, 

And cried "Beware! my love has turned, to hate." 



32 BEULAH 

XV. 

Edgar heard. Then to assuage her grief, 

Encouraged her with words of love and cheer. 

As dew dissolves from flower and leaf, 
When beams of morning light appear, 
So vanished Beulah's care and fear 

At Edgar's genial words of hope. 

Again their future lives were scanned, 

The dangers 'gainst which all must cope. 
The world to meet and battle hand to hand, 
With every rampart guarded, every portal manned. 

XVI. 

He or she who reads this simple story, 
May say my pen is given to digress; 

Some look for scenes both weird and gory 
On every second page — or less; — 
I know I'm prone to this, and must confess 

At times my stanzas wax profuse. 

I ask: Are not our lines of atoms fine. 

Such as the builder might refuse 
Into a costly structure to combine. 
Yet rich as Gold of Ophir from the mine? 



BEULj4H 33 

XVII. 

Real Life, the life we live, is Passion, 
Sentiment, Thought and strong Desires; 

The Outward Life does but conform to Fashion — 
Within is lit the all consuming Fires — 
Within is coiled the finely tempered wires 

Along which the electric currents run. 

To fire the Inner Chambers of the Soul; — 

Like as the rays of noon -day blazing sun 

Make glad the earth they daily smile upon. 

XVIII. 

But to return. Close at a mountain's base. 
From which in gentle slope the land declined, 

An area spread until it did embrace 
A plot to please and charm the mind — 
A fairer spot could no one find 

Whereon to build a mansion or a cot; 

On East side fettered by a romping stream 

Fresh from a wild secluded Grot — 
All lighted by a single beam — 
A Fairy Cone— a Poet's worthy theme. 

XIX. 

A river of majestic size, 



34 BBULAH 

Whose floods drink up the lesser rills, 
Along its southern border hies, 

Till lost amongst the distant hills; 

The soul with rapturous impulse thrills, 
And glad Delight speaks in the eye 

That feasts upon the glittering waves, 
That leap so swift and madly by 

The mighty towering rocks, and caves. 

Whose granite base its icy water laves. 

XX. 

Here had they planned a home to make. 

The house should be quite near the spring. 
Its color like unto the flake 

Of snow that comes on silent wing; 

Here Edgar reign the honored King, 
And Beulah, happy, proud, serene. 

Domestic hopes warm in her breast, 
Would rule within — the gentle Queen — 

To guard with care and make the warm home nest 

The sweetest, dearest spot on earth, in which to rest. 

XXI 

A few more days the "transfer" would be made. 
The legal title pass to Merton's hands; 



BEULAH 35 

Through musty tomes the lawyers slowly wade 
Ere they declare the title to the lands. 
All this is done. The owner now demands 

Of Merton that which he agreed to pay; 
So he unto the distant village went, 

Buoyant of heart, along the rocky way 

Whistling to give his bounding spirit vent— 
A picture of true Manhood — and Content. 

XXII. 

And now, with quickening steps elate, 
He climbed the marble steps to where 

A murmuring throng did congregate, 

Whilst hundreds struggled to get there. 
Men shouted; women in despair 

Did wring their hands, and wildly weep; 
Some rent their locks of hoary hair. 

Whilst curses fell in accents deep 

To mingle with a Widow's piteous prayer 
Whose Mite was placed for greater safety there. 

XXIII. 

Above the door this "Placard" was displayed: 

"Bank closed. Depositors must wait." 
'Twas this the people had so great dismayed, — 



36 BEUL/IH 

They read in this their sad impending fate. 

Such scenes as this I sorrow to relate, 
But such the greed and avarice of man; 

And such our trust in him — and yet 
How oft the Inner Life we fail to scan, 

And trust our all to some "Cashier Monette," 

And live — our trusting folly to regret. 

XXIV. 

To say that Edgar's hopes were dashed. 
So late before in regal bloom, 

That for a moment anger flashed 

Athwart his cheek — then came a gloom 
So dense and dark the crowded room 

Grew pregnant with the shades of night, 
But poorly paints the scene at last. 

Alas! It is a sadly painful sight 
To see the strong man's face with gloom o'ercast — 
The agony, tho' great, with Edgar soon had passed. 

XXV. 

The first white heat of passion cooled, 

His nerves were steeled, let aught transpire. 

His spirit had for years been schooled — 
Been tried as tho' it were by fire, 



BEULAH 37 

And now impelled by strong desire 
He sought for information clear; 

Was told with sighs of deep regret 
That, from the signs it did appear, 

The culprit was their trusted man Monette 

That he had fled to Canada — and was there yet. 

XXVI. 

Their money gone, the pretty house and farm 
On which their joys and hopes were built 

Will now no more their vision charm — 
The Flagon's broke — the Nectar spilt. 
Altho' unreal — Tinsel, burnished Gilt — 

Yet such delight the vision did impart 
That every prospect seemed to smile. 

And light each recess of the heart 
With pleasures free from any tinge of guile, 
That swelling — burst its bounds — like as the Nile. 

XXVII. 

About this time the "Forty-Niners" 
Were crowding o'er the desert Plains 

To that fair Eldorado of such Miners 

As could withstand the arduous toil and pains. 
To Edgar's view there now remains 



38 BEULAH 

This one vague chance his losses to restore: 

To join the Caravan about to leave 
In search of Wealth, where sleeps the shiny "ore" — 

He knew, he felt how Beulah's heart would grieve. 

Alas! What tangled webs doth Fortune weave! 

XXVIII. 

Congealed the blood in Beulah's heart; 
Of Hope there's not one glim' ring ray; 

The time draws near that they must part, 
To meet— let's hope — at some near day, 
When smiles will banish tears away. 

Who can foretell the final end? 
A knell is tolled for every fleeting joy; 

Grief and pleasure closely blend — 

There's naught so pure but there is found alloy — 
Beyond the skill of Chemics to destroy. 



CANTO III. 



Months have passed. The mountain's crest, 
That towers above the low foot-hills, 

Is by the morning beams caressed, 

And smile the sun-kissed mountain rills. 
That soul with awe and wonder fills, 

Who here beholds Great Nature's Halls, 
In grand and solitary state, 

The mighty pillars and eternal walls- 
Majestic, silent-whose foundations date 
From Genesis-to stand until the day of Fate! 



II. 



Land of Gold! The Acme of fond Hopes! 

What thousands made thy vales their Goal, 
Tired, undismayed, dragged up thy slopes- 

As true to Greed as needle to the pole. 
Alas! What legions by thy siren smile 
39 



40 BEULAH ' 

Were lured to cross the cheerless Plain, 
Or treeless desert, mile by mile, 
To search for thy alluring, fleeting gain — 
To find but disappointment, toil and pain. 

III. 

Ye rock-bound, granite-vaulted piles. 
The Treasure Vault for mighty Nations' need. 

Who is it from thy fastness wiles 
The Riches — soon the prey of Greed? 
For such may toiler strive and bleed. 

Are not thy treasures daily drawn 
By arduous toil and ebbing health, 

By sweat and waste of Manhood's brawn 
From out thy Urn of Indus-fabled wealth — 
To be another's Prize— by trick or stealth? 

IV. 

A narrow Gorge ran east and west, 

That rent the ancient hills in twain; 
And coursing through the chasm pressed 

A river bounding to the Main. 

Along its banks encamped a train; 
Closely the Cattle fed about, 

And men passed swiftly to and froj 



BEULAH 41 



Then back again, as tho' in doubt 

Just what to do or where 'twas best to go — 
Some swore 'twas Rich above — and some below. 



V. 



No man could look upon this sight 

With pulse cold and sense inert, 
But every current would ignite, 

As when smiled on by laughing flirt. 

The stream and hill-side each begirt 
By men inspired with frenzied zeal. 

Intent on finding "dirt" that "paid"— 
But such the earth did not reveal 

To those who wielded pick and spade — 

Until with day both strength and courage fade. 



VI. 



Merton made one among the throng, 

That night before the lone camp-fire, 
And joined his comrades in a song. 

Their waning courage to inspire. 

The heart depressed is slow to fire 
Into a warm and healthy glowj 

Perchance the chill may be so icy cold, 
So deep the wound, so hard the brutal blow, 

That Hope increased unto an hundred fold 



42 BEULAH 

Would not induce a spark — one ray unfold. 

VII. 

Many were sad and sore distressed, 
And murmured at their bitter fate, 

And to their lonely selves confessed: 

" 'Twere better in their Old dear State;" 
But Prudence often lingers late. 

A Sluggard she; until the deed is done. 
Then right or wrong — "I told you so — " 

Victory lost or victory bravely won — 

"I told you so," "before the fight begun." 

VIII. 

Some cried, "What folly to come here;" 
Others, " 'Tis stark madness to go there." 

Experience at any price comes dear, 

And theirs had been a Royal Party's share; 
Ofttimes before did they in haste repair 

To "ground" that was reputed "rich" 
In nuggets large, and shining "dust." 

That made each calloused palm to itch 
With expectation's burning lust — 
To find that Rumor will not do to trust. 

IX. 

Merton's make was of a sterner stuff 
Than those who weaken at a first defeat, 



BEULAH 43 

But seemed the stronger after each rebuff — 
One whom a slip or fall could not unseat; 
Yet valor's often witnessed in retreat, 

So he withdrew his "forces" from the Camp, 
Some distant Gulches to explore, 

To reach which was a tiresome tramp 
Across a region scarcely trod before, 
Beyond which Hope had placed — a golden store. 

X. 

His journey was deferred some days, 

Awaiting the expected mail. 
Which slowly wound through devious ways 

Along the winding mountain trail. 

But now 'tis come! A joyous hail 
Ascends from throats that's heard afar, 

And eyes grow moist and dim with tears 
That gently fall — but not to mar 

True manhood or mature and honored years — 

Tokens of deep feeling — and not of fears. 

XI. 

Anon the drawing came in which the Prize 

Was vested with peculiar charm; 
Some read their letter with glad eyes, 

Whilst others boded dire alarm; 



44 BEULAH 

Some dear one dead or threat of harm 
Beyond his power to ward or stay — 

And Edgar — not a word or line 
From Beulah since the parting day 

From which was marked a weary year's decline; 

He sorrowed much, but did not long repine. 

XII. 

Merton's "forces," made mention heretofore, 
Consisted of a "Scout" and valued friend, 

Well learned in mountain ways and lore. 
Who knew each river's devious trend. 
His life demanded to defend 

Some one in peril and distress 
Was valued only at its worth 

To make the threatened danger less — 
Or sink upon the blood-stained earth 
Unknown to Fame-— a hero from his birth. 

XIII. 

Such things as known to be required. 
So "beasts of burden" were assigned 

And, when the western peaks were fired, 
Up Mystic's rugged side they climbed 
And as they went, arose behind 



BEULAH 45 

A lusty cheer — the Camp's farewell. 

Here now we leave the twain 
In mountain fastness — Who can tell 

What years may bring in joy or pain? 

Yet we will part in Hope — to meet again. 



CANTO IV. 



The final parting words were said, 
Given the clinging last embrace; 

A gloom of sadness soon o'erspread 

That palled the brightness of each face; 
On Beulah's pallid cheeks we trace 

A marble hue, a deeper chill 

Than that on Edgar's — The tearless eyes 

Refuse with Nature's balm to fill — 

Look but on Edgar, as each moment flies, 
In whom her love, her trust, her future lies. 

n. 
How strangely true, the one who's left 
Is pierced with deeper aching pangs. 
The one at home more sad, bereft — 
More keenly feels the poisoned Fangs. 
The clapper in the Church tower clangs 
46 



BEULAH 47 

A dolorous sound, that heretofore 

In silv'ry chimes so loud and clear 
A softly cadenced summons bore, 

That fell like music on the ear. — 

Alone! — A dirge in every swelling note we hear. 

III. 

But he who leaves his home and friends, 

For other and a distant clime, 
Finds much wherewith to make amends 

And quick the lagging steps of time. 

Thus Merton, fully in his prime. 
Inspired with zeal's determined glow — 

A future yet to gain or lose — 
Was less cast down that he must go; [choose — 

The paths to tread were his from which to 

And Beulah's to remain — and wait for news. 

IV. 

To wait — To have the expectation fired 

And fanned into a fervid flame; 
To wait — until the heart is tired — 

And yet the long'd-for never came; 

To call aloud a loved one's name, 
But to receive an echo back, 



48 BEULAH 

However so ofttimes we may call — 
Is as the torture of the Screw and bloody Rack. 
That might the bravest heart appall. 
God pity her on whom such sorrows fall! 

.V; 

Some days to tears, and Beulah's feet 

Again pursue their wonted ways, 
With silent tread and step less fleet 

Than marked her gilded bridal days; 

And when she sang, her roundelays 
In strains of minor chords would rise — 

The cheerless notes of which portend 
A flood from out her lustrous eyes, 

In which the shades of sorrow softly blend, 

And to their lustral depths forebodings lend. 

VI. 

But time passed on — no letter yet — 

The months now marked the waning year; 
How sadly was her lonely way beset 

By trials will anon appear; 

For Edgar's love she knew no fear, 
Her trust was as the granite rock, 

Defying storm or winter blast — 



BEULAH 49 

The ship in Harbor feels the shock 
Tho' by the firmest Anchor cast — 
So Beulah trembled — as the Storm swept past. 

VII. 

Her uncle was a man of good repute, 

Who tilled a goodly plot of land. 
His honor no one could dispute — 

A kindly heart and open hand. 

His wife was always at command, 
(On great occasions for display) 

By neighbors spoken of as one 
"Who cheered the needy on their way, 

Nor left a kindly deed undone — 

Such was the meed of praise her Cant had won. 

VIII. 

As Beulah' s powers began to wane, 

And steps grow languid as of years — 
No plaint of sickness or of pain — 

But often silent and in tears; 

A little care — a word that cheers 
At such a time has magic charms, 

The dire forebodings to dispel, 
To quiet nature's quick alarms. 



50 BEULAH 

And pass the signal, "all is well" — 

Such tho'a simple deed — hath potent spell. 

IX. 

Maternity! Thy Joy and pain alike acute — 
Life stake for life — How often lost — 

Life comes of death — this no one can refute — 
How dear it seems at such a fearful cost. 
Ah! there's the Joys! No winter frost 

Can chill the germ of such a bliss; 

The heart bounds gladly at the thought 

Of the first hallow'd Mother Kiss — 
So dearly, yet so cheaply bought — 
Such paradox Maternity hath wrought. 

X. 

In time the Uncle, with some others, 
To see the "Wonder" was invited, 

Along with Aunts and ancient Mothers 

(Whom at such times could not be slighted;) 
To say the "good man" was delighted, 

As shown by smiles across his face, 
Is but to tell what did transpire; — 

To Beulah gave a glad embrace, 
As proud as tho' the absent sire 



BEULAH 51 

Of the small "mite" he hastened to admire. 

XI. 

Now Beulah's heart sang as a bird 

At gush of sun-beams, first of spring, 
Whose downy breast was wildly stir'd 

Until it could but sit and sing; 

His kindness was so small a thing 
That one might do as well as not 

And those around ne'er mark the deed — 
Or if observed — to be forgot — 

Yet in a heart is sown a savory seed [bleed. 

That springing up, bears balm for hearts that 

XII. 

How many seeming worthless trifles 
Are mingled with the Web of Life; 

How small the Word that Pleasure stifles. 
Or plants the germ of needless strife — 
A little thing — a word — but wondrous rife. 

To some lone heart in woe or weal 
The kind speech draws, as to the pole 

The needle turns its point of steel. 

True to the power that holds it- in control — 
A word can charm — or terrify a Soul. 



52 BEULAH 

XIII. 

The Aunt could sweetly smile with others by, 
Feelingly dilate upon her grief, 

Refer to Beulah's woes — and sigh, 
(And use her scented neckerchief,) 
But with them gone, she found relief 

In innuendoes — slight and small, 
But dipped in venom to destroy — 

That was to Beulah wormwood, gall, 
As fatal to a moment of pure joy 
As keenest weapon hatred could employ. 

XIV. 

Sad were her trials! And combined 

With hopes dispelled each passing hoar, 

Weighed like a night-mare on her mind, 
And drooped her head, as droops the flower 
That pines for summer ev'ning shower. 

Each day she sought the village Post, 
Each day with disappointment met, 

At length recalled the angry boast 
Of that ingrate J. C. Monette, 
Whose warning words she could not quite forget. 



BEULAH 53 

XV. 

His minions handled every mail. 
Letters received and letters sent, 

All were destroyed — And Beulah's wail, 
Stifled, within her bosom pent, 
Unto her pale and haggard features lent 

A look of sadness, so forlorn, 

That they who pass'd need stop to gaze 

With looks of wondering pity born- 
Such the sadness of those waiting days, 
And such the grief — that oft its victim slays. 

XVI. 

With Vera, Beulah oft repaired 

Unto a spot more dear than all — 
Where she and Edgar oft had shared 

Each other's hopes, before the fall. 

It gave strange comfort to recall 
The dreams they shared of future joys; 
'Tis only when full-sated, pleasure cloys- 
■ And theirs had been but for a day — 

A prelude to the Song but not the Lay. 

XVII. 

Here leave we Beulah and the child — 



54 BEULAH 

How soft her chubby hands — how pink her face- 
Two summers had upon her smiled, 

And each had left a newly added grace. 

Here in this hallowed trysting place 
Perchance may come a glad refrain — 

Borne on the resonant ev'ning air — 
A softly cadenced love-wrought strain 

To quick the heart, so desolate and bare — 

A respite give from gloomy thoughts and care. 



CANTO V. 



Upon Old Mystic's rocky side, 

Whose crest was coped in ice and snow, 
We last saw Merton and the Guide, 

And heard the parting cheer below. 

They now one lingering glance bestow. 
Where stand their comrades shouting yet. 

Then forward on their journey go. 
By rock and canyon oft beset, 
But linger not, nor breathe a vain regret. 

II. 

The Scout had made his only home 
Among the hills a score of years; 

Within their fastnesses could roam. 

And scale their height with little fears; 
In mountain craft few were his peers; 
55 



56 BEULAH 

He knew the Red-man's crafty ways; 

Was taught by their most learned seers 
Of herb that cures and herb that slays, 
And many legends of their esirly days. 

VII. 

Thus oft before their bright Camp-fire 

Did Ben his traveling friend regale 
With Legends that could well inspire 

An Author's pen to write the tale. 

Sometimes rehearsed with mountain gale 
Disporting o'er each lonely head, 

Or shrieking in a dismal wail — 
Weird notes that tend to fire with dread — 
So near were they to Demon voices wed. 

VIII. 

"An ancient tribe had wealth so great 

Its value ne'er by speech was told; 
A Spirit guarded well the Gate 

That every entrance there controlled; 

Beyond — a mint of precious gold, 
Where none could pass, except the King, 

Its wondrous riches to behold 



BEULAH 57 

And He to enter there must bring 

The tribal Amulet, or Golden Signet ring." 

IX. 

"For many moons their king had wooed 

A dusky Princess, pert and coy 
In vain her fleeing steps pursued — 

His wooing served but to annoy. 

Then did she her charms employ 
And gained the Signet Ring he wore — 

To her a brilliant tempting toy 
That little worth or virtue bore — 
A band of gold — a circlet — and no more." 



Life hangs upon such slender thread 

The softest breeze that falls may sever; 
The sword above the victims' head 

In threat'ning circle swings forever. 

Thus in affairs of men 'tis ever 
That Disaster lingers closely by. 

Whose lurking foot-steps we may never, 
Until Destruction comes, espy — 
Altho' his presence is forever nigh. 



58 BEULAH 

XI. 

"The thoughtless maiden in wild glee 

Sped laughing to the near-by lake- 
Fleet of limb and wildly free, 

As deer that came their thirst to slake — 

Arrived, she hast'n'd to betake 
Her light Canoe, and swiftly cross' d 

Its waters to the sedgy brake, 
By water-lilies rich embossed. 
Just where the lake its yeasty ripples toss'd." 

XII. 

"The lily gained, the prow was turned 

Toward the village and the strand; 
The trophy she so fairly earned 

On high was held by tawny hand; 

Her cheek aglow — by Nature fanned 
Into a ruddy flame of amber light — 

Swiftly she nears the shining sand — 
See! She starts! Why doth she show affright? 
The Ring! The ring is sunk forever from her sight. 

XIII. 

"And now their Old Men love to tell 



BEULAH 59 

That they have seen at early dawn, 
From Mystic's sides the lonely dell, 

From which their magic wealth was drawn, 

But, as the swift, fleet-footed fawn 
At man's approach doth flee away — 

So glides this vision further on — 
To reappear, some other distant day. 
And vanish with the Morning Minstrel lay." 

XIV. 

Onward they moved, ofttimes distressed 

In mind and body by the way. 
Sometimes by hunger sorely pressed. 

Sometimes they found themselves astray— 

Not long did they remain at bay, 
Their course resumed, and courage fed. 

By Food and Hope, watched dire Dismay, 
Until she to her coverts fled, 
And Hope again her wings of comfort spread. 

XV. 

Their way was not bestrewn with roses — 

Their dreams mayhap assumed a brilliant hue- 
Man plans— another One disposes— 

The End is kindly hidden from the view— 



60 BEULAH 

And this is well. If he who runneth knew, 
His feet would never reach the Goal, 

Or flowers his toilsome way bestrew — 
If Hope did not in Faith unroll — 
The Race were lost — the Fire quenched in the soul. 

XVI. 

A little distance at the fore 

And they will climb the last ascent 
That hides from view the Golden "Store," 

That to their steps endurance lent. 

The Hope long in each bosom pent 
Pressed hard, as fell their glance below — 

A silence fell ere came the vent — 
No Joy was in the silent overflow — 
All ! All around was locked in Ice and Snow. 

XVII. 

To say our friends were not depressed 

At this result would be untrue; 
A time their spirits were oppress' d 

And took a somber-tinted hue, 

But ere the night had passed, their view 
No longer was by clouds obscured — 

Again their journey they'd pursue, 



BEULAH 61 

No more by phantom visions lured — 
The error made — it need must be endured. 

XVIII. 

Adown the stream toward the west, 

They turned their worn and tired feet; 
No Jocund Song or Camp-fire Jest 

To night the craggy hill will greet; 

And now they long for safe retreat, 
Wherein a brief time to abide, 

Secure from ice and snow and sleet. 
Ah! Joy! Upon the mountain side 
A Cavern shows — with entrance deep and wide. 

XIX. 

Within the cave a vaulted room, 

That spread from entrance either side. 
Then forward till 'twas lost in gloom, 

Where only bats and owls abide — 

Uncanny, weird, is not denied. 
Yet safe from storms that thunder past. 

Here will they rest, until supplied 
With food to break a lengthened fast. 
At early morn had they consumed their last. 



62 BEULAH 



XX. 



With morning light they were astir, 

Intent the cavern to explore; 
The)^ heard the constant whiz and whir 

Of forty thousand bats, or more; 

Torch in hand they pushed before. 
Until a passage way was found, 

That gently sloped until* it bore 
Their steps into a depth profound, 
A furlong and a half beneath the ground. 

XXI. 

Advancing thus, it warmer grew 

Till great they feared a poisoned air — 

But no! A healthy breeze then blew. 
As noted by the torches flare. 
And now within the lurid glare 

Close at their feet, a rushing stream. 
Fresh from some deep and hidden lair, 

Athwart their way glides as a dream — 

So mystical doth all about them seem 

XXII. 

Its depth, as by the light revealed, . 
Enabled them at once to scan 



BEULAH 63 

Its limpid waves, which ill concealed 

Its even depth of but a span. 

The surfaced bottom, free from sand, 
Was all of rock from side to side. 

And, as its width was quickly spanned, 
'Twas found to be three fathoms wide — 
A swiftly flowing and a bounding tide. 

XXIII. 

Great was their wonder and surprise, 

To find the waters warm as gore, 
That from the crimson fountain flies 

Until the struggle all is o'er. 

At left a cataract's dull roar; 
To right — unseen by them before — 

A light, as from a star, did rise, 
To which their eager footsteps bore. 
As turns the mariner to light upon the shore. 

XXIV. 

With cautious step they now advanced; 

Soon with soft light the cavern filled; 
And now without they stand entranced. 

Each with amaze and rapture filled; 

Their souls with ecstasy are thrilled; 



64 BEULAH 

The air was with sweet odors laden, 

As tho' from flow'ry banks distilled, 
Or borne by happy-hearted maiden, 
Commissioned from the flow'ry fields of Aden. 

XXV. 

What change! From chill and ice and snow 

To tropic clime and tropic flowers, 
Where waters murmuring soft and low 

Sing through the Amaranthine bowers. 

An awe is born that overpowers; 
The tongue too full of Joy to sing; 

Eyes feast on beauty such as dowers 
The Groves of Daphne, or an Eastern King, 
And ears with songsters' sweetest tributes ring. 

XXVI. 

Above them rose the mountain peak 

A thousand feet— all dipped in white; 
And nestling snugly at their feet, 

A verdant vale burst on their sight. 

Who can measure such delight; 
Golden the words to fair express 

The joy the vision gave aright — 
A thrill the lips could ne'er confess 
Except in silence — such is joy's excess. 



BEUL/iH 65 

XXVII. 

The place was a sequestered glen — 

Entombed by hills on either side — 
A fit abode for Gods or men 

In which forever to abide. 

From east to west, a furlong wide; 
From north to south three times as long; 

Whilst sun-beams glittered from the tide, 
That past each margin flowed along, 
And joined in chorus with the birds of song. 

XXVIII. 

At mighty heat, these waters rise 

From out the mountain, at the base, 
Whilst vapor rolls up to the skies. 

And ofttimes hides their smiling face. 

Here, where they enter on the race, 
They part — and flow to either side. 

Thus holding in a warm embrace 
The Sylvan Glen — they onward glide 
'Till lost at last — in some mysterious tide. 

XXIX. 

Each side the Glen, about midway. 
Two seething columns upward rise — 



66 BEULAH 

Soon changed to bows of tinted spray — 

Or float as vapor in the skies. 

Below, but not so great in size, 
Near where the parted streams unite, 

The waters of a spring arise. 
Whose trickling music gives delight. 
And fevered lips its cooling waves invite. 

XXX. 

Receding from the streamlet's brink 

A distance up the slope's incline 
Great trees, their giant branches link. 

And Lover-like their arms entwine. 

A meet place this — a Sylvan Shrine 
Beneath umbrageous bowers — to raise 

A song of gratitude — (to chime 

With one of thankfulness and praise) 
To Him who marks our devious walks and ways. 

XXXI. 

Along the margin, growing nigh, 

Are luscious fruits of divers kind — 

Such as a Kingly Board supply, 

To charm the taste or feast the mind. 
Here one could rest for aye, resigned, 



BEULAH 67 

Oblivious of the world's vain glare; 

Within its shaded coverts find 
Nepenthe from life's burden — Care — 
That ends so oft in darkness and despair. 

XXXII. 

From thence, the eye feasts on a scene, 

Enchanting far beyond our Ken — 
The "Isle of Flowers!" — a Tropic Queen! — 

A Jewel sparkling in the Glen — 

Guiltless of either sedge or fen. 
Here rose the regal Palm on high. 

Above a sward of purest green, 
Whilst fragrance-laden winds sweep by 
From banks of ever-blooming Roses nigh. 

* XXXIII. 

Magnolias, dressed in rich attire. 

Beside the Palm in grandeur stood, 
A "thing of beauty," to admire — 

The Queen of all within the Wood; 

Here Oleanders, pink and purple-hued, 
With Roses bloomed in wild array, 

Whilst over all dwelt Solitude 



BEULAH 

Who held intruders in her sway — 

Fit spot to live — or breathe one's life away. 

XXXIV. 

Not long did these delights beguile 

Our friends from vulgar prose of life. 
The jest that now procures a smile 

Another time with gloom is rife; 

There seems to be eternal strife, 
That with the good instils alloy, 

To dim the brightness of our life, 
And leaden ev'ry promised joy — 
Perhaps 'tis well — lest sated, all would cloy. 

XXXV. 

They hunger'd. Then, having dined 

On fruits and nuts, drank at the spring, 
They were refresh' d as tho' just wined 

As honored guests beside a King. 

No longer press' d by Hunger's sting, 
They thrilled anew with life's desires, 

And gave again to Hope full wing, 
Who fann'd anew the half quench' d fires. 
Whose fervent glow the weary heart inspires. 



BEULAH 69 

XXXVI. 

Now they recalled the Legend told, 

By the "Old Men," of "flower-girt dell," 
That did from Mystic's side unroll, 

Array'd in beauties none could tellj 

Recalled the evils that befell 
The "Ancient Tribe" — the vi^ealth they lost — 

The "Signet Ring" — its potent spell — 
"The mountain lake," with flowers emboss' d, 
A maiden's hoyden prank — its fearful cost. 

XXXVII. 

Their mustangs browsing on the green. 
And Camp arranged for coming night — 

The scudding clouds above their screen — 
With myriad twinkling stars in sight, 
The mountain tops all robed in white, 

The watments of an hour for rest: 
All these a languor's spell invite 

That soon their tired forms invest, 

And eyes grow dim, by leaden fingers press'd. 

XXXVIII. 

With light, refreshed the twain arose, 
Whilst choral notes the echoes woke — 



70 BEULAH 

Too dim the morn to yet disclose 

From whence the choral concert broke. 
A time and place this to invoke 

The care of One with power to bless. 
Or take away at one fell stroke, 

That which makes life disasters less — 

Whose smile to Life is one long sweet caress. 

XXXIX. 

With hearts full tender, and imbued 

With sentiments of love and praise, 
They breathed a prayer of gratitude 

For guidance to such pleasant ways. 

Then — ere the sun's effulgent rays 
Across the chasm's depth unrolled, 

And with their gorgeous amplitude 
Did each recess with light infold — 
Resumed anew their eager search for gold. 

XL. 

They soon had gained the water's edge. 
Translucent in the first day-beams, 

Where mirror' d stood each tree and ledge 
Fantastic as in realms of dreams. 
"Ah! What is this resplendent gleams 



BEULAH 

Beneath the water's burnished face?" 

Its sheen is to them as a pledge. 
Success at last had crowned the race, 
And Hope again assumed its wonted place. 

XLI. 

Yea, Gold! Richest, purest strain, 
The mintage of some mighty shock, 

That rent the granite hills in twain, 
And bade their Indal wealth unlock > 
Man's puny efforts serve to mock 

That of the vast "Assay" below. 
Where endless ages it hath lain 

Pent in a giant Constant throe — 

By Vulcan fann'd into a ruddy glow. 

XLII. 

The shining ore, soon in their grasp, 

A "nugget" proved of monstrous size. 
Their speech was hushed into a gasp, 

So filled were they with glad surprise; 

Tears dim'd the luster of their eyes — 
Not bitter tears — but such as swell 

Up from the heart at kindly clasp 
Of some lost friend — tears that well 
Into a flood of joy — too deep to quell. 



72 BEULAH 

XLIII. 

Further research to them revealed 

That 'neath the waters, hedged in sand, 
Upon the "bed-rock" la}^ concealed 

Such wealth as Croesus might command. 

No need for charm or magic wand 
To woo this precious, hidden "ore" — 

'Tis but to garner — as the field 
Deep planted in the spring before 
By yeoman hands, adds to the farmer's "store." 

XLIV. 

Merton planned a wier to build 

Across the east branch at its source — 
With ease the channel could be filled — 

And turn the streamlet from its course. 

Their brawny hands supplied the force; 
Soon rock and branch was being toss'd 

As tho* by hands inured and skilled, 
And ere the light of day was lost, 
The wier was built — the steaming torrent crossed. 

XLV. 

Thus, to another course beguiled, 
The waters turned their steps aside. 



BEULAH 73 

And with the change was reconciled 

To mingle with their brother tide. 

Thus reunited, swollen as by pride, 
And sparkling in the merry race, 
^ They pass the Isle in gambols wild— - 
A moment serving to efface 
All mem'ry of their former resting-place. 

XLVI. 

The morning saw the work complete, 

The bare rock-bed exposed to view. 
Oblivious of the tropic heat 

Again their search for gold renew, 

As maids, whose path rare flowers bestrew, 
Exult in glee or wildly sing, 

So now our friends, with joy replete, 
An earnest of their rapture fling 
Into a shout, that makes the echoes ring. 

XLVII. 

Each crevice in the rocky bed 

Was filled with that alluring "dust," 

That might a benediction shed 

On all mankind — if man were just; 
But in the strife to gain, ungodly lust 



74 BEULAH 

Steps in to claim the toilers share, 

For which he oft has toiled and bled, 
And laid his brawny bosom bare — 
To sink at last — a Pauper in despair. 

XLVIII. 

A week passed by as tho' a day, 

So wildly were their pulses fired; 
The "ruling passion" held its sway. 

And ev'ry thought and deed inspired; 

They hunger' d not — they never tired. 
Nor once abated in their might 

Until the craggy hills grew gray, 
And thick'ning shades obscured their sight, 
Or mantled all in solemn gloom of night. 

XLIX. 

And now their labor did abate. 

And bags of skin their treasure stored; 

They figured that a proper rate 

Gave "Fifty Thousand" in the hoard — 
A princely sum indeed they'd scored 

That each new day would see augment, 
To a degree their wants to sate. 

With Plenty came a sweet Content 

To charir away, or banish weak lament. 



BEULAH 75 

L. 

Alas! With Plenty comes not full content; 

They wished for more, and were distressed 
Yet in their hearts could not consent 

To banish longing from the breast. 

Is there no balm for such unrest? 
No charm to weave a magic spell 

To bid the sordid heart repent, 
And on some sweeter image dwell? 
Yea, Love! Its potency will tell. 

LI. 

Edgar's thoughts turned from his gold 

To Beulah, lone and far away, 
More precious far than could be told — 

Than all the wealth that 'round him lay. 

Impatient — he waits the coming day, 
All eager for the flight of hours 

To wing from Night's Mysterious Fold, 
Laden with beams to fire the bowers. 
And light anew, the Glen and Isle of Flowers. 

LII. 

At length they hailed the early morn, 
But tarried 'til the sun's broad beams 



76 BEULAH 

Had flooded tree, and flower, and lawn. 
That mirrored in the burnished streams; 
Then said "Farewell! Perchance in dreams 

To see at times the Isle of Flowers — 

When years had come and years had gone, 
' And life had narrowed into hours — 

To visit oft in dreams, its shaded bowers. 



CANTO VI. 



A traveler on a desert plain, 

His mustang pinioned closely by, 

Moonlight soft as that of Spain, 
No human habitation nigh — 
No sound but hungry coyote cry 

To dissipate the solemn gloom. 
The silent earth, and air, and sky 

All savor of the day of Doom, 

Or that beyond the portal of the Tomb. 

II. 
Ere night had closed, with anxious gaze, 

The lonely traveler hoped lo find. 
Along the desert's burning ways, 
Some moving being of his kind: 
In vain. No friendly form outlined; 
77 



78 BEULAH 

Each spear of grass like phantoms rose. 

Looking before, above, behind, 
Only the weird-like forms disclose, 
And tutts of grass loom up as giant foes. 

HI. 

How strange that night should thus invest 

All things inanimate with dread, 
Tliat when by solitude oppressed 

Our fears are by such silence fed. 

They grow apace — until with red 
The mountain tops in light appear — 

To darkness they are born and wed — 
At morning's light to disappear — 
With dawn they cannot linger here. 

IV. 

'Tis thus the spectral demons fade, 

And to their caverns hie away. 
To come anew when night and shade 

Assume dominion over day; 

But when the sun declares his sway, 
And climbs into ethereal space — 

The Regent of the new-born Day — 
What Joy ! To scan a human face — 



BEULAH 79 

To grasp a hand in friendly, warm embrace. 



Merton and Ben had been assailed 

Three days ere this by Robber Band, 
Whose dashing "charge" had never failed — 

The Scourge of all this western land; 

They clashed together, hand to hand— ^ 
The pistol crack rang sharply out — 

On "bowie's" point was foe impaled — 
The light for three brigands went out — 
Yet the result hung trembling, and in doubt. 

VI. 

By chance the friends were thrown apart; 

Just how, it matters not to tell, 
But each was doomed to play his part, 

His life to save or dearly sell; 
They fire again, and ring the knell 
For one — then to their steeds give rein. 

And quickly to close coverts dart — 
From whence they speed with might and main — 
The Scout into the mountain — Edgar to the plain. 

VII. 

Soon Edgar gained a safe retreat. 



80 BEULAH 

Wherein to screen his jaded horse, 
Then backward turned with steps discreet, 

To find, perchance, his friend a corse; 

But he was saved from such remorse, 
The dead brigands so stock and still 

Recked not that they had met defeat — 
Whilst o'er them cried the whip-poor-will— 
And all beside was silent, hush'd, and still. 

VIII. 

With morning he resumed his way, 
Across the desert lone and drear, 

Whilst Hope would whisper him and say, 
"Your friend will surely soon appear; " 
But time had passed, and now a fear 

Came o'er him that brave Ben was slain. 
Or wounded, lone and bleeding lay, 

Where no kind hand could soothe his pain, 

Or purge from brow the fatal bloody stain. 

IX. 

And now the traveler turned his glance 
Athwart the plain. There in the west, 

Upon the desert's broad expanse, 
Beholds a foe — or welcome guest; 



BEULAH 81 

Forward with steady steps it pressed 
Until at last out-lined complete — 

Then quicker grew the firm advance — 
And Merton sped with flying feet — 
'Tis thus again, the Scout and Edgar meet. 



The Scout reported: "Closely pressed 

I fled adown a steep defile, 
Nor gave my tired mustang rest 

Till we had dashed ahead a mile; 

So close were they, it seemed awhile 
That naught could shield me from their power. 

Betwixt arose a rocky crest; 
The gold I hid, as night began to lower — 
No robber horde,- from me should claim a dower. 

XI. 

The demons soon pursuit gave o*er. 
And halted, as night's shadows fell. 

Near where was placed the bags of 'ore' — 
In this lone Camp to hear and tell 
Of wild deeds done, or what befell 

Companions in the last assault — 
Many had fallen drenched in gore, 



82 BEULAH 

And now reposed beneath night's vault — 
Defeat had come — 'Death to the one in fault!' 

XII. 

"Softly I crept, with full intent 

To fall — or reach those bags of gold; 
Then drawing nigh, each nerve well bent, 

Distinctly heard all that was told; 

The robber whom the horde controlled 
Was by the outlaws soon beset; 

Their carbine echoes wildly roll — 
No farewell said or vain regret — 
^Twas thus he fell — they spake his name — Monette." 

XIII. 

Then Merton spake. "So he is dead? 

The reprobate! Whom years ago • 

Bro't dire misfortune on my head, 

And Beulah's life would overthrow; 

Some recompense in this, to know 
That he whose hand was raised on high 

'Gainst all that's good — whom pure minds dread, 
Should lone and unregretted die — 
His pall the earth — his canopy the sky." 



BEULAH 83 

XIV. 

When Merton spake fair Beulah's name 

(HeM always called her "Little Wife") 
A tremor shook the strong Scout's frame — 

Who never trembled faced with strife; 

His had been a wanderer's life — 
(In youth had quit his native shore, 

Lured by Adventure's dazzling flame;) 
"Beulah!" he cried, "I've heard that name before! 
Beulah! It is — it is the name — my mother — sister 
bore!" 



XV. 

Transported to that sylvan scene. 

Where last was Beulah and the child, 

Behold! There on the meadow's green 
A rural sport — pure — undefiled: 
'Tis Ben, the Scout— by youth beguiled. 

His burly back his niece astride, 

That o'er the green-sward doth careen — 

Whilst Vera shouts aloud her pride — 

And calls on all — to see how she can ride. 



84 BEULAH 

XVI. 

Merton had now a title clear 

To all that land, where hid the Grot 
Around which cluster'd memories dear, 

As festoons o'er some hallowed spot. 

Sorrows o'erdim'd — but not forgot; 
From out their ashes seemed to rise 

A temper'd transport, so ecstatic — dear. 
That naught their chast'nd joy could ere disguise, 
Or cloud the sweet content, engraven in their eyes. 

XVII. 

Here where they'd plann'd a home to make, 
A house was builded near the spring; 

It's color like unto the flake 

Of snow that comes on silent wing; 
Here Edgar reigns the honored King, 

And Beulah, happy, proud, serene. 
Domestic joys warm in her breast. 

Now reigns within — the gentle Queen — 

To guard with care and make the warm home-nest 
The sweetest, dearest spot on earth to rest. 

XVIII. 

My tale is told. My harp unstrung. 



BEULAH 85 

The finale reached— the Echo of my strain — 
If true to Life — to Nature's pitch is sung, 

Some tuneful heart the Echo will retain. 

Now severed — will we meet again? 
Little we ken, as down the stream we glide 

The last word said — the last lay sung — 
We journey on adown the angry Tide 
Into a Haven of Rest — there to abide. 



LOVE AND HOME 



LOVE AND HOME. 

OUR CHILDHOOD'S HOME. 

How oft in memory we return, 
How oft our hearts in secret yearn 

For that Old Cottage home, 
Where in our blithe and youthful days 
Our time was passed in boisterous plays, 

As by the lake we roamed. 

How often too the lake has pressed 
Our youthful forms and heaving breast, 

Or deluged brow and hair ; 
And with what joy we glided o'er 
Its rippling wavelets to the shore, 

Nor gave a thought to care. 

How often too will memory soar 
To scenes returning never more — 

The Fireside Circle dear 3 
About which memories cluster yet. 
When at the dawn of eve we met. 

And all was love and cheer. 
89 



90 LOVE AND HOME 

4 *Twas then we had parental care, 

Ah, then we claimed a Mother's prayer — 

A sister's love so true; 
But Time his ceaseless round has trod, 
These loved ones rest beneath .the sod, 

Our tears may now bedew. 

5 But now the flowers, those lovely flowers, 
We culled them in Childhood's hours, 

Shall festoon o'er their tomb. 
And in the- smiling summer hours 
Twine round their graves like summer bowers, 

And there forever bloom. 



WILL YOU MEET ME? 



SHE. 



Will you meet me 'mongst the daisies. 

In some airy wild retreat. 
When the birds sing vesper praises. 

Just as day and evening meet? 

HE. 

Where the daisies bloom I'll meet you, 
At the night bird's plaintive call, 



LOP^E AND HOME 91 

And salute you as I greet you, 
Fairest flower amongst them all. 

SHE. 

Will you join me at the river, 

Where the wavelets dance in glee. 

And all nature seems a-quiver 
With a softened melody? 

HE. 

I am coming, darling, coming, 

The rich strains that greet mine ear 

Cannot be the wavelets humming— 
'Tis thine own sweet voice I hear. 

By the river where it glimmers, 
As the light darts thro' the trees, 

And the trembling waves that shimmer, 
Murmur soft as hum of bees. 

When the thick* ng shades go dancing 

All about your wild retreat — 
Now retreating, now advancing — 

There you'll find me at your feet. 

At thy feet V\\ tell the story. 
Such as maidens blush to hear, 



93 LOVE AND HOME 

With a carmine tide of glor3^ 
Flushing over neck and ear. 

O! the ebbingj and the flowing 
Of this crimson tide of love, 

'Tis a human passion glowing — 
Fanned by breezes from above. 

O! the burning, happy blushes. 
How they mantle brow and cheek, 

While love's torrent wildly gushes. 
And the tongue's too glad to speak. 

O! the burning, happy blushes, 
How they amble o'er the face, 

While thy heart-beat madly rushes 
Like the hart pressed in the chase. 

Could that flush be truly painted 
That sets neck and face aflame. 

Free from evil passion tainted — 
Such as brings the blush of shame: 

Oh, what inspiration holy 

Would beam forth from every line, 

And the high as well as lowly. 
Each would know it was divine. 



LOyE y4ND HOME 93 

THE OLD LOVE AND THE NEW. 

The leaves that fall in autumn time 

How beauteous to behold, 
When shaken from the parent stem 

And fluttering to the wold; 
But when the vernal sun and showers 

Bring bud and leaves to view — 
The beauty of the fallen leaves 

Gives place unto the new. 

We hailed the old year's advent here, 

As friend would greet a friend, 
Assured beyond its portals fair 

No troubles would portend; 
But O, the year was not full past 

Ere sorrows quickly grew, 
And now we greet with outstretched hand 

The advent of the new. 

Our dearest friend of youthful days 

Was treasured long and well. 
His kindly words and loving ways 

Our tongue was pleased to tell; 
But scenes have changed as years passed by, 

And in this sad review. 



94 LO^E AND HOME 

The friend I loved in other years 
Gives place unto the new. 

The maid, who to our raptured sight 

Was angel in disguise, 
Whose rosy cheeks and dimpled chin 

Was crowned by love-lit eyes — 
I see her now, just passing by, 

A matron fair and true — 
The love she bore in other days 

Gives place unto the new. 

The wife that shared my toils and cares 

Nor frowned at any fate. 
Who always watched my late return 

Just at the garden gate: — 
She sleeps to night, in peaceful rest 

Close by yon spreading yew — 
Her love was light and life to me, 

'Twas old, yet always new. 

But years may come and years may go 

And at the garden gate, 
No more will she at noon or eve 

My footsteps there await: 
Listen, hark! I hear a voice 



LOVE AI^D HOME 95 

That thrills me through and through, 
It calls to me: "Come to my side 
And rest beneath the yew." 



GONE. 



She was our joy and pride; 
Our sweetest care to guide 

Her feet from harm: 
Her voice was music rare, 
Soft breathed upon the air — 

Our ears to charm. 

The gentlest breeze that blew 
From off the rose the dew 

We turned aside: 
Fearing a chill of death 
Lurked in its softest breath — 

Claiming a bride. 

Why sped the poisoned dart 
Into our darling^ s heart 

Life's thread to shiver? 
Why not into our own 



96 LOVE AhID HOME 

Heart was the arrow thrown — 
There left to quiver? 

O! for one more caress, 
Just once again to press 

Thy snow-white brow; 
Thy kiss so pure yet lingers, 
The touch of thy baby fingers- 

We feel them now. 

Over her chill blasts will blow- 
Down will the torrents go- 
Wild their alarms: 
Into the silent land 
Clasped by a Father's hand^ 
Safe in His arms. 

Here by her lonely bed 
Come we our tears to shed. 

O'er her grave weeping: 
Gone from our tender care, 
Up where the angels are — 

Into God's keeping. 



LOVE AND HOME 97 

OF WHAT IS GRANDMOTHER THINKING? 

In the corner sits grandmother knitting; 

Of what is she thinking to-day. 
As the needles fly fast through her fingers, 

As she watches the children at play? 

Of what is grandmother thinking, 
As her eyes altho' faded grow bright. 

And a smile Mumes those dear faded features, 
One moment are lost to the sight? 

Of what is grandmother thinking? 

When her home was all sunshine and glee, 
And her lover and lord sat beside her. 

And children were close at her knee. 

Of what is grandmother thinking 

As tears trinkle down that dear face? 

'Tis the past and the present she's linking; 
'Tis the first and the last of the race. 

Of what is grandmother thinking? 

Do the days of her youth rise before. 
As the sun of her life is just sinking, 

Resplendent upon the glad shore? 



98 LOVE y4ND HOME 

Of what is grandmother thinking, 
As her lips move as in silent prayer? 

*Tis of home, rest and heaven forever, 
And loved ones to greet over there. 



PATRIOTIC 



PATRIOTIC. 

KEEP THE BANNER FLYING. 

An officer by foe hard pressed 
This banner placed in sight: 

"My men, 'tis victory or death," 
Then marshalled for the fight. 

His aid was summoned to his side, 
Full on his faith relying — 

"Go plant this banner on yon dome, 
"And keep it always flying." 

The aid went forth as he was told, 

With fleet steps upward hieing, 
And from the topmost peak unrolled 

And set the banner flying- 
Far, far away, in deadly fray. 

Each for the victory vieing. 
One ringing shout came floating out. 

They saw their banner flying. 
101 



102 PATRIOTIC 

With bated breath each courted death- 
Behind lay comrades dying — 

But valor won ere set of sun, 
And still their banners flying. 

To-day a power hard to withstand, 
With ramparts broad and high, 

Holds carnival throughout our land, 
Our dearest rights defy. 

Our banner — "Home and Liberty," 
Go plant high on yon wall. 

Beside it nail the Stars and Stripes — 
With these we stand or fall. 

This lurking foe, where'er we go, 

Is by the wayside lying. 
To be secure we must endure. 

And keep the banner flying. 

Our sons shall be from rum set free, 
And mothers cease from sighing. 

O! tear stained-eye, look in the sky — 
Behold our banner flying. 

Far, far below, where friend and foe 
Each other are defying — 



PATRIOTIC 103 

List to the cheers that greet our ears; 
They see their banner flying. 

On goes the fight "for God and Right," 

The foe in vain is trying — 
He cannot win this world for sin, 

With these dear banners flying. 

Proud Haddock's blood now dyes the sod — 

Yet crimson — never drying — 
Come, floods of rain! There, there's the stain, 

And still the banner's flying. 

That gush of blood, that crimson flood 

Shall prove a fount undrying — 
Look on it now, join in this vow! 

We'll keep that banner flying. 



MY COUNTRY RIGHT OR WRONG. 



My country, my country, my country. 
With East Shore and West on the main. 

Could I for a century sing. 

Thy Paeans should be my refrain; 



104 PATRIOTIC 

Thy grandeur, and greatness, and goodness 
Would be my delight and my song, 

And down through the Ages unnumbered, 
Thy hills should the echoes prolong. 

II. 

My country, my country, I love thee; 

Here Liberty sets on her throne; 
On no brighter or better asylum 

For Man has the sun ever shone; 
The Tree by our Fathers transplanted 

Has grown to a Giant in size. 
Its roots are the Hope of the nations. 

Its branches are lamps in the skies. 

III. 

I love thee, my country, I love thee> 

With all that thou art — with thy stains — 
My heart altho' sad loved thy music 

When humans were groaning in chains; 
I recalled the great Past of my country — 

Her deeds told in story and song — 
Such deeds make the heart bound with pleasure- 

My country I loved right or wrong. 



PATRIOTIC 105 



IV. 



I love thee, I love thee, my country — 

Thy rivers and beautiful plains; 
Thy people all free as the eagle 

Have shiverM the last human chains; 
For this and for more — how I love thee! 

Thy children all safe in the Fold — 
Thy ensign of Freedom above me — 

Its stars all emblazon' d in gold. 

V. 

I love thee, I joy in thy greatness,' 

I weep when thy steps go astray; 
I pray that thy glory may never 

Be shorn of one glittering ray; 
My country, the hope of all nations, 

I pray thee in Justice be strong. 
But living or dying I'll love thee — 

My country will love right or wrong. 



MY IOWA. 

A song I will sing 

Of a liand passing fair, 



106 PATRIOTIC 



Where vigor and manhood 

Are breathed in the air: 
Where the bravest of sons 

And the fairest of daughters 
Quaff life-giving draughts, 

From its springs of pure waters. 

CHORUS. 

O, there is not any spot, 

In the nation to-day, 
That so fills me with pride 

As my dear Iowa. 

With the nation in peril 

And foes on each side. 
Her sons rose as heroes — 

As heroes they died: 
And hsr daughters, true women, 

Gave out not a wail, 
*Tho their hearts were oppressed 

And their faces grew pale. 

— CHORUS. 

Her prairies are robed 

In a mantle of green, 
That spreads o'er the landscape 

A ravishing sheen; 



PATRIOTIC 

And her hills and her valleys 

Take on every hue, 
That gives pleasure to sense 

Or delight to the view. 



107 



— CHORUS. 



The grandest of rivers 

Flow past either side; 
Her east shore and west 

Are each kissed by their tide: 
The rain and the sunshine 

Dispensed by His hand, 
Make an Eden almost 

Of this beautiful land. 



— CHORUS. 



Her plains and her meadows, 

How fair to behold ! 
Arrayed in a vestment 

More gorgeous than gold. 
Her flowers are the gifts 

A kind Father hath given — 
Methinks they were culled 
From the arbors of Heaven. 

Her lakes are her jewels 



— CHORUS. 



108 PATRIOTIC 



All scattered afar, 
Each blue wave a mirror 

Reflecting a star; 
And the woodlands that darken 

Their shores invite rest 
To their sylvan retreat 

By the lakes of the west. 

CHORUS. 

Here the farms are all broad 

As the minds of her people, 
And bright glints the sunlight 

From school-house and steeple: 
Her sons all true yeomen 

Are lords of the soil; — 
They are men of full stature, 

Tho' children of toil. 



— CHORUS. 



In the ages unborn 

When the cycle of years 

Has rolled in its orbit, 

Like the stars in their spheres: 

When nations are crumbled 
And marked with decay 

May a kind angel hand 



PATRIOTIC ' 109 

Guard my dear Iowa. 



O, I'm proud of this land, 

And the station it holds 
'Mongst its fair sister states, 

That make up the full fold: 
And there's not any spot 

In the nation to-day. 
That so fills me with pride 

As my dear Iowa. 



-CHORUS. 



— CHORUS. 



110 PATRIOTIC 



THIRTY YEARS AGO. 

READ AT OLD SETTLERS' REUNION, LEHIGH, IOWA, JULY 4, 1890. 

1 Old pioneers, give ear to me, 

We're growing old together, 
Times are not what they used to be. 

We've seen some stormy weather. 
Some of us came just in our prime 

With man's aspiring glow. 
While other heads showed frosts of time. 

Some thirty years ago. 

• 

2 My heart grows sad at the review 

Of long years come and fled. 
The waters deep we've struggled through, 

The comrades lying dead: 
The heads of snow we've honored well 

Are lying cold and low. 
And we are left the deeds to tell — 

Of thirty years ago. 



PATRIOTIC 111 

3 We who of younger years remain 

Are bending down with cares, 
We've struggled long for honest gain 

Beset by countless snares: — 
But O, the years are speeding fast! 

Each as they come and go 
Seem shorter far than days that's past — 

Some thirty years ago. 

4 Not all the time in by-gone years 

Did fortune on us frown, 
Sometimes in glee, sometimes in tears — 

As often up as down : 
We had our merry-makings there — 
, Good people will, you know — 
And often met to drown dull care, 

Some thirty years ago. 

5 We -did not need the flowing bowl 

To add to pleasure then — 
To bring damnation to the soul — 

We weren't that son of men: 
With beaux and maidens all about — 

Of course things had to go — 
And go they did without a doubt — 

Some thirty years ago. 



112 PATRIOTIC 

6 Not maids alone, but matrons fair 

Were eager for the fray — 
And beaux with shining silver hair 

Could not be kept at bay: 
And thus it often came about, 

Their pleasure to enhance, 
They walked the little "fiddler" out 

And all hands had a dance. 

7 These days of silks and satins rare 

Are noted for fair faces; 
For lovely forms and "banged up" hair- 

And many pretty graces; 
But in those days, more primal far. 

Decked out in calico, 
Each damsel was a "blazing star" — 

Some thirty years ago. 

8 And matrons who did not disdain 

To don their shaker bonnet, 
Could sing the very sweetest strain — 

You may depend upon it: 
And when called on to take her part, 

And through the mazes go — 
It made the husband hold his heart 

To see how she could go. 



PATRIOTIC 113 

9 Then gray-haired men in cow-hide boots 

Skipped round as light as air; 
And swung their girls — the gay old "coots" 

To make the young men stare; 
You ought to see them "chass" about — 

Then backward, to and fro — 
*Twas thus they drove old dull care out — 

Some thirty years ago. 

10 When aged dames would take their place, 

With calm and faded features, 
A. younger bloom would mount their face 

And make them lovely creatures: 
With graceful step and stately tread 

And courtesy so low — 
'Twould almost turn a young man's head — 

Some thirty years ago. 

11 And when the fiddler drew his bow, 

And all had found their places. 
It was a sight to see them go, 

And watch their smiling faces: 
Some with boots and some without. 

It beat old Barnum's show 
To watch them as they skipped about 

Some thirty years ago. 



114 PATRIOTIC 

12 The men those days as well as bo5^s 

For raiment when complete, 
Had denims pants or corduroys 

And strapping naked feet: 
But then this garb was good enough, 

They had no need for show. 
Their neighbors wore the same blue "stuff,' 

Some thirty years ago. 

13 Though rough attired, a manly brow 

By pioneers was carried, 
The girls all flirted, then, as now — 

As now the young men "harried": 
But blessings on their ruddy cheeks 

And eyes of lustrous glow. 
We all enjoyed their little freaks — 
Some thirty years ago. 

14 It seems to me a kindly deed 

Was easy then to render; 
That pleasant words, and help in need 

Was always legal tender: 
If at the door Want called for aid 

'Twas rapture to bestow — 
Thus oft two hearts were lighter made, 

Some thirty years ago. 



PATRIOTIC 115 

15 The meeting-bouses in those days 

Were primitive affairs, 
And suited well the people's ways, 

Who entered there for prayer5; 
And ministers did not disdain 

Their labor to bestow- 
In some log-hut — ^to rustic plain — 

Some thirty years ago. 

16 But times are changed as all can see. 

Our temples are more grand; 
Less prayers are said from bended knee, ^ 

The prayers mostly stand: 
And most who listen keep their eyes 

On this one — so and so — 
Instead of "mansions in the skies" — 
As thirty years ago. 

17 Domestic life had ups and downs, 

There's no one will gainsay, 
With roses few and many thorns. 

And dark clouds by the way; 
What shall we eat? was all the cry 
. Pitched in high key and low — 
That man was rich who tasted "pie" — 

Some thirty years ago. 



116 PATRIOTIC 

i8 Old coffee topers had a time, 

And passed through trying scenes — 
It almost knocks me out of rhyme — 

That coffee made from beans: 
And sometimes as a Sunday treat 

And sometimes just for show, 
We had, for coffee, "roasted wheat" — 

Some thirty years ago. 

19 For those who had a sugar tooth. 

The sorghum tree was tapped, 
'Twas all the sweet we had — the truth— 

We were so nearly "strapped;" 
But neighbor H. and neighbor B. 

No stone would ever throw. 
For each was poor as poor could be^ 

Some thirty years ago. 

20 Good people living here to-day 

Would choke down with emotion. 

If they could see the primal way 
We had for locomotion: 

The young man when he took a "whirl" 
Yoked up old Tom and Joe, 

And "Gee Hawed" round up to his girl- 
Some thirty years ago. 



PATRIOTIC \V 

21 These days of dudes and little p^nts 
Are not so tame affairs; 
The young man fresh from fashion's haunts, 

A mustache with ten hairs — 
Will prance a fancy stepper out — 
Give that mustache a "twirl' — 
And ere we know what he's about — 
He's riding with his girl. 

22 This day we met to celebrate, 

In years long gone before, 
To hearken to affairs of State — 

And let the Eagle soar; 
Then orators worked hard and late 

The national pride to tickle 
They gave us "Yankee Doodle" straight 

And didn't charge a nickel. 

23 The same bright stars that we revered 

Are in the sky to-day, 
The same broad stripes the people cheered 

Are here — and here to stay; 
Proud may they wave from spire and crag, 

While balmy breezes blow, 
Three times three cheers for that old Flag 

O' thirty years ago. 



118 PATRIOTIC 

24 Xhe many people round about, 

With faces bright and true, 
Are just as good as those no doubt, 

In other years we knew: 
But somehow there's a tender chord 

That vibrates to and fro, 
When we recall some friendly word — 

Spake thirty years ago. 

25 We've had our ups and downs 'tis true. 

We've passed through thick and thin. 
And as we join in this review, 

There's something speaks within: 
It tells me there's a recompense 

For trials borne below- 
That we will join when taken hence — 

Our friends of long ago. 



PHILOSOPHICAL 



PHILOSOPHICAL. 

YOUTH AND AGE. 

I. 

In youth's sparkling sunshine and ardor 
With riotous health in each vein, 

We seldom give thought to the larder; 
We never give heed to the rain. 

II. 

A halo of gladness is o'er us, 

That hides every danger from sight. 

That paints every vision before us, 
In beautiful colors of light. 

III. 

The mountains, upheaved at creation. 
Dissolve into Meadow and plain. 

The deserts, no longer forsaken, 

Now groan with their burden of grain. 
13.1 



123 PHILOSOPHICAL 

IV. 

The Ocean, that foams in its madness, 

Is lulled to a harmless repose. 
The griefs, and the tears and the sadness. 
Are tinged with a tint of the rose. 



Through vistas of beauty advancing 

We tread on a carpet of green. 
Around us sweet music and dancing — 

Above us — the sky is serene. 

YI. 

Years come and go. Youth's glowing hours 
Merged into Manhood slowly fade. 

The hues that painted sky and flowers 
Now take a deeper, darker shade. 

VII. 

And farther on past manhood's prime. 

Where trembling feet approach the Shore, 

Our ears but catch a distant chime 
Of melodies heard long before. 

VIII. 

The hills our bounding feet had crossed 



PHILOSOPHICAL 123 

Now to our sight like mountains rise, 

Their summit crowned with rock and frost 

Like Specters stand against the skies. 

IX. 

The tempest rages wild and loud, 

Old Ocean's lips are flecked with foam, 

The sailor gains a salt-sea shroud 

Who fondly hoped for wife and home. 

X. 

Where fair Pomona sat in state, 

Where Autumn's fruit fell thick around — 

Where Plutus sat before the Gate — 
Is but a waste and desert ground. 

XT. 

The burning sands must all be crossed; 

The frowning peaks be climbed or passed; 
Tho' tired, faint, bewildered, lost — 

Beyond all these is Rest at last. 



124 PHILOSOPHICAL 



CONTENTMENT. 

To be contented with one's lot 

Should not Ambition fetter; 
While thanking God for what you've got 

Strive on for something better. 

What tho' your foes to drag you down 

With evil deeds conspire? 
Accept the thorn placed in your crown 
And strive to mount up higher. 

Then should the lowering clouds appall 
And snares your feet are twining, 

A light may flash to break the fall — 
The clouds have "silver lining." 

So if on bed of thorn or brier 
Perchance your head reposes, 

The man within you should aspire 
To change the thorn to roses. 

The Rose may never greet your sight, 
The Thorn may always sting you, 

But striving thus will win the fight, 
And true contentment bring you. 



PHILOSOPHICAL 125 



And thus contented with your lot 
The burdens will grow lighter, 

And tho' your home remains a Cot, 
Your life will be the brighter. 



THE MYSTICAL HAND AND LINKS. 



Bewildered, I groped for the Pathwa}^ 

My feet were beset with the sand, 
No hope cheered my heart with its ray, 

Ti-11 touched by a Mystical hand; 
The hand that extended to save me, 

That lifted my feet from the mire, 
Was that which a kind Brother gave me, 

And with it new hope and desire. 

II. 

The clasp of that hand on my shoulder 
Bade Gloom and Despondency flee, 

And now tho' in years I am older — 
Remember its touch set me free; 



126 PHILOSOPHICAL 

Recall that when sinking and falling — 
No rescue or help to command, 

A Brother from far heard the calling 
And offered the help of his hand. 

III. 

Again, far from home and a stranger, 

Contagion's dark wings o'er me spread; 
Deserted — no cave or a manger 

In which to repose my lone head; 
But He who hath care for the sparrow 

Had guarded my steps to the brink, 
And in my distress and my sorrow 

Behold! The bright gleams of a link. 

IV. 

'Twas the symbol of ties that unite us 

In Friendship and Truth and in Love, 
A link of the Chains that delight us, 

Whose fetters would harm not a dove; 
They bind — yet the strain is not galling, 

Are strong in each member and link. 
Their music forever is calling 

The thirsty to come and to drink. 



PHILOSOPHICAL 127 



A hand from my brow wiped the moisture 

That pain had compressed from each pore, 
A voice soft as that from the Cloister 

Bro't comfort and peace to my door; 
My lips kissed the drops of cold water 

From hand that ne'er trembles nor shrinks, 
(A hand soft like wife's or of daughter's) 

When bound by the Mystical Links. 



ALONE. 

Alone! Alone! as the path of life 

Leads over the Hill on to the Strand 
Where Barks set sail for the Brighter Land; 

On the margin we rest. Just wife 

And I. She leans on me; I take her hand — 

Now wrinkled and brown — once so white. 

Ah! Well I recall the star-lit night 

She pledged her hand and heart to me; 

More proud was I than bravest Knight 

That ever went forth in jousts to fight 
For lady of high degree. 



128 PHILOSOPHICAL 

Nay, not alone. The scampering feet, 

That used to clatter so loud and clear, 

Now fall like music on the ear 
In cadence soft and sweet. 

The chime of voices again we hear. 
The rippling laughter, shout of joy. 
The happy song of a happy boy. 

Give note that they all are here. 
Ah! They are around about our side. 
They're wont to come at the Christmas Tide, 

And join in the Christmas cheer. 

The mother bird in the early spring 

Provides her brood with bounteous store; 

Full-fledged, she drives them from the door 
And laughs to see them on the wing. 

And lest they should return once more, 
With hunger pangs, by dangers pressed. 
To claim protection at the breast 

That brooded o'er their tender hours. 
With wanton haste destroys the bed — 
From whence her birdlings late had fled — 

To wanton 'mongst the blooming flowers. 

Gladly we'd keep close at our side 
The pledges God gave to our care; 



PHILOSOPHICAL 129 

Bereft of these our life is bare — 
A rock that's beaten by the tide. 

Our nurslings, lured by earthly glare, 
As quick as fledged their pinions test 
In flight away from home and nest. 

We call them back. With light regret 
They hie away to distant climes; 
Their ears attuned to other chimes, 

The songs of Home they soon forget. 

Their pinions caught the wooing breeze 

That wafts from home. All, all are dead. 

Mermaids have made them a lonely bed, 
Deep down in the rolling seas. 

But years have come and years have fled — 
To-night their presence is very near. 
Voices that reach us are soft and clear; 

Footsteps that gently past us glide 
Are pregnant with familiar sound: 
Expectant we look, to see at a bound 

The children again at our side. 

Alone — waiting where Ocean waves 
Beat hard and loud against the shore. 
We hear its angry awful roar; 

We see its darkened ocean caves. 



130 PHILOSOPHICAL 

O, Phantom Ship! haste, bear us o*er 
The raging deep to milder skies, 
Braving the storm, with hopeful eyes 

We'll scan the distant, verdant shore, 
Longing to see a loved one's face, 
Longing to take in a fond embrace 

The Children that crossed before. 



IS IT RIGHT? 

Man may labor from the morning 
Till the day goes out in night: 

Yet his loved ones may be hungry — 
Do you think this thing is right? 

See the millions, upon millions. 
Hoarded wealth in sums untold: 

See the homeless little children. 
Left to perish in the cold. 

See the palaces of splendor, 

Marble steps and gilded dome; 

See the toiling men and women, 
Not a roof to call their own. 



PHILOSOPHICAL 131 

See that matron clad in satins, 

Gorgeous in her rich attire; 
See that widow and her orphan 

Shivering o'er their scanty fire. 

See the silks and robes of splendor. 

That the queens of fashion wear; 
See their gowns of finest texture — 

See the diamonds in their hair. 

See the rings upon their fingers — 

Watch their sparkle in the light: 
Ask yourself this honest question 

Do you think this thing is right? 

It can't be right; but that 'tis true 

We all must know full well; 
The wrong that's done our fellow-man, 

I blush when forced to tell. 

With the granaries of our nation 

Pressed beyond their strength to hold, 

Should there be a child to hunger? 
Should there be a cry of cold? 

Such should not be; but 'tis tod true 
With plenty in our land, 



132 PHILOSOPHICAL 

The starving poor and overfed, 

Are met on every hand. 

This should not be; I only know, 
We're all one kith and kin. 

And marvel why they have the feast 
Who neither toil nor spin. 

Haste! haste the day when all may strive 
To gain this high renown, — 

"He lived to raise a brother up," 
And not to cast him down. 

When each shall work a brother's weal, 

His errors kindly scan, 
And flash upon the earth anew. 

The brother-hood of man, 

Ah! then would break upon our view 

A scene for angel. eyes; 
The fellowship of man with man, 

A glimpse of paradise, 

But such is not; the stronger tread 
Upon the weak; their pra3'ers defy; 

Remorseless, theirs the pound of flesh — 
Deaf to their victim's cry. 



PHILOSOPHICAL lai 

All this is wrong. O! where's the one 

To flash the calcium light; 
That they who wrong their fellow-man. 

May see and do the right? 



EVENING THOUGHTS. 

Now the day has disappeared ; 

Gently spreads the pall of night; 
See! the gentle moon appearing 

Rifts the pall with floods of light. 

Thy beams, O moon! are not thine own; 

Borrowed luster gives thee grace; 
Yet in thee behold the sunbeams 

Softened, mellow, coy and chaste! 

Ah! a cloud is speeding yonder; 

Wind and cloud have won the race; 
Moon, O Moon! where now thy splendor 

With that cloud before thy face? 

Thus our lives all bright at morning, 
Future joys seem well assured: 



134 PHILOSOPHICAL 

But how oft ere we have warning, 
By some cloud they are obscured. 

See! the moon again appearing, 

Clouds have vanished from her face; 

Not a ray is dimmed or tarnished, 
As she swings through vaulted space. 

Thus as the moon, fair Queen of night, 
Rides through the clouds unshorn. 

So man may pass thro' clouds to light, 
Unhurt by burdens borne. 

Now the moon in regal splendor 
Mounts the star-lit vault above, 

Queen of Star Land! I've adored thee 
Side by side with those I love. 

But that time has long since fleeted, 
Glided past like some vague dream; 

Passed so quicky, all unheeded — 
Days instead of years it seems. 

But by careful retrospection 

I can see what time has wrought — 

Changes in my loved connections. 
Changes too by me unsought. 



PHILOSOPHICAL 135 

Friends whom I most fondly cherished, 

With a heart to friendship true, 
By the lapse of time have perished, 

Passed forever from my view. 

Yet there's one enshrined forever, 

In my heart where'er I roam; 
Loving mother! failing never — 

Blessings rest on thee at home. 



IS THERE REST? 

Is there a rest for the weary at last, 
Rest from cares and pains of the past. 
Rest for the heart that often has bled. 
Rest for the aching and care-worn head? 

Is there a rest from the turmoils of life. 
Rest from its selfish and endless strife, 
Rest for eyes overflowing with tears, 
Rest for hands that have labored for years? 

Is there rest from sin and despair. 

Rest for the heart that is burdened with care. 



136 PHILOSOPHICAL 

Rest for the child overwhelmed with grief, 
Rest for Sinner of Sinners the chief? 

Is there rest for feet weary-worn, 
Rest for arms that great burdens have borne. 
Rest for the body once manly and strong. 
Rest for the voice all too feeble for song, 
Rest for the ear that has heard human sighs 
Rest for the heart that has bled for their cries? 



IS THERE REST? 

O! I am tired of warring and strife. 
Tired of failures and errors of life, 
Tired of wading through waters so deep, 
"Tired of sowing for others to reap," 
Tired of striving to keep in the van. 
Tired of evil that man does to man. 
Tired of rank with its brazen face, 
Tired of running a losing race, 
Tired of all that drives love from my way, 
Tired of love that endures but a day. 
Tired of tears unavailingly shed, 
Tired of grieving for Joys that have fled. 



PHILOSOPHICAL 137 



Tired of saying the final "good-bye"- 
Too tired to live and unfitted to die. 



THERE IS REST. 

In Heaven no strife can arise, 

All is peace and contentment above; 
The Home the Father prepared in the skies 
Is a Refuge for all — in His Love. 

Your "burden" come cast on the Lord, 
He sorrow'd and wept to the End, 

This promise He gives in His Word: 
"The sinner in me has a friend; 

Come unto me ye that are weary 
Your burden of Care I'll assume," 

The Way is dark and passage so dreary — 
Yet all must gain Rest through the tomb. 

In His Mansions the weary find rest, 
There voices to praise will be strong; 
No sigh will up-heave in our breast. 
Our ears will exult in each song. 

The "waters" should cause thee no fears, 
Tho'' billows break angry and fast; 



138 PHILOSOPHICAL 

The seed thou hast sown — and the tears 
Will bear richest fruitage at last. 

Thy "striving" need not be in vain, 

Thy hands may be stained but not gory; 

The tears freely shed for the loved and the dead 
Are smiles when we greet them in glory. 



A LOOK BEYOND— A DREAM. 

On dewy grass beneath the shade, 

I posed my limbs in rest; 
The wind, that shook each trembling blade, 

Soft on my temples pressed. 

Awhile the busy scenes of life 
Went racing through my brain; 

Awhile my hand was raised in strife, 
Some vantage ground to gain. 

My hand was 'gainst my brother's hand. 

My weal my brother's woe; 
"And must he fall that I may stand 

And reap where others sow?" 



PHILOSOPHICAL 139 



And thus in meditation deep — 
As why such things should be — 

A dreamy sense of restful sleep 
Came floating over me. 

« 

Before me spread a fairy land 
Like unto this of ours; 

My brow by zephyrs soft was fanned, 

Made sweet by countless flowers. 

The breezes seemed like unto those 
That wooed my boyhood cheek; 

The scent of flowers was as the rose, 
That blossomed at my feet, 

The birds that caroled from the trees 

Piped a familiar strain; 
The drowsy hum of busy bees 

Came like some old refrain. 

The trees upoa the rugged hills 

Familiar plumage bore; 
The soothing murmur of the rills 

I'd often heard before. 

But men and women passing by 
Were not as those I knew; 



140 PHILOSOPHICAL 

A brighter light flashed from each eye 
That passed me in review. 

Those that went and those that came 
Were as my fellow-creatures — 

But something that I could not name 
Beamed brightly from their features. 

The light that glowed from every eye 
A child would soon discover, 

And to those arms for refuge fly — 
As maiden to her lov er. 

No look of want was in the face 

Of woman, man or child; 
No mark of sorrow from disgrace 

The maiden's looks defiled. 

A damsel fair came tripping 'long 
With careless maiden grace — 

Upon her lips a cheerful song — 
A rose tint on her face. 

Before me stretched a lovely plain. 

Beyond me to compare: 
Here waving fields of ripening grain — 



PHILOSOPHICAL 141 

There forests bold and rare. 

And winding here and winding there, 

Then on through fields of grain, 
A little brook ran everywhere 

And fertilized the plain. 

While on its banks and all about, 

And on its sparkling sands, 
Were heard the children's gladsome shout 

And clapping loud of hands. 

I asked the maid that passed along 

If this be Fairy Land? 
She paused a moment in her song, 

Then waved a magic wand. 

Then did a bow in grandeur rise 

High arched above the plain, 
To which I turned my wandering eyes, 

And looked and looked again. 

And as I gazed thus from afar 

An angel lightly ran — 
And writ there with a blazing star — 

" The brotherhood of man. " 



14^ PHILOSOPHICAL 

And as I viewed those lines of light, 
Where angels' feet had trod: 

The angel writ in words more bright. 
"The Fatherhood of God/' 



PICTORIAL 



PICTORIAL. 

ONLY A TEACHER. 

[Miss Minnie Mae Freeman, aged nineteen 5^ears, 
a teacher at Mira Valley, Neb., by her rare presence of 
mind saved the lives of thirteen small scholars during 
the blizzard of January 12th, 1888, by tying her pupils 
to each other and to herself and bravely leading them 
through the storm three-fourths of a mile to a place of 
safety. The youngest and weakest child was carried in 
her arms.] 

Only a teacher in a public school, 
Wise and gentle in her rule. 

Oft perchance complaint was made, 
She did her duty — was not afraid. 

Her's was the task to guide the youth 
In learning's path and ways of truth. 
145 



146 PICTORIAL 

Oft their little feet would stray 

But soon were placed in the rightful way. 

She ruled, a queen o'er this little band, 
But she ruled by love and a gentle hand. 

Busy and happy their days had passed 
But a shadow darkened their joys at last. 

Old Boreas leaped from his arctic bed — 
Shook the earth with his angry tread, 
And a harvest garnered of frozen dead. 

The teacher's heart is beating fast; 
The raging storm goes shrieking past. 

"Can she a weak and fragile girl, 

Her pupils save from threatening peril?" 

She can, she will; they must be saved. 
The storm be met — the danger braved. 

Now placed in order to command, 
Joined to their teacher hand in hand, 

A wilder blast — and o'er their heads 
The roof no more protection sheds — 



PICTORIAL 147 

A prayer to heaven for strength to guide 
These precious ones to mothers' side. 

Caresses to quiet youths' alarm — 
A prayer for help — out in the storm: 

The frailest child clasped to her breast, 
With words of cheer for all the rest. 

Against that faithful form hard beat 
A furious blast of blinding sleet. 

The air seemed charged with frosted death; 
Congealed was every panting breath. 

Still fiercer raged the chilling blast, 
Each labored step seemed but the last. 

She falters, falls — "must she give o'er?" 
"Shall these dear ones see home no more?" 

They cry for rest, their limbs are chilled; 
Their childish hearts with terror filled. 

Too well she knows the rest they crave 
Is but the rest found in the grave. 



148 PICTORIAL 

Too well she knows the snow and sleet 
Would only prove their winding sheet. 

She drags them onward, threatens, smiles, 
A moment thus their fear beguiles: — 

A few steps more — her task is done — 
There safe at last, yes every one. 

And the tender form she long had pressed 
Was changed from hers to mother's breast. 

There are heroes, crowned forthe blood they have shed, 
Extolled for their number of fallen and dead: 
Her crown is the jewels she snatched from the grave, 
And the love of good people who honor the brave: 
Her laurels are green as by waters long laved — 
She offered a life that a life might be saved. 



SCHOOL IS OUT. 

What's that racket on the stairs? 
See! they come in squads and pairs: 



PICTORIAL 149 

Hear the buoyant, ringing shout — 
What's the matter? — School is out! 

How they push and crowd along! 
What a merry noisy throng; 
Careless whom they knock about — 
Clear the road, for school is out. 

Down the stairs, out at the door, 
Surging torrent, see them pour; 
Down goes Tom, the clumsy lout — 
Clear the way, for school is out. 

Only hear them — what a noise! 
All are shouting, girls and boys; 
Are they happy? who can doubt — 
Lessons finished — school is out. 

Who would curb their noise and fun? 
As they do we all have done. 
Almost we feel the giddy whirl 
That thrills the heart of boy and girl. 

Bless the children, let them play. 
They're only children for a day. 
Ah! soon they pass beyond our ken 



150 PICTORIAL 

A boy to day — to-morrow men. 

So let the children quaff their fill 
Of sunshine from each gushing rill; 
It won't be long ere clouds arise 
And shut the sunbeams from their eyes. 

Age will come, and all too soon 
The morning blossom into noon; 
That noon so radiantly bright 
Is but a flash — then comes the night. 

Life is a school which only ends 
Where future and the present blends; 
If holy lives we've led, no doubt 
Will dim our hopes — when school is out. 



A PEN PICTURE. 

[A letter written to my brother C. J. Price, living on 
the Pacific Coast, Oregon.] 

Dear Brother, what your letter tells 
Has filled me with surprise; 



PICTORIAL 151 

But I have learned at fifty years 
Where El Dorado lies. 

You tell of trees three hundred feet, 

And cabbage thirty pound, 
With beets so very, very large 

One can't reach half-way round. 

And fruits of divers kinds so cheap, 

With pears and prunes galore; 
Turn any way you wish to turn — 

And still there's thousands more. , 

Now if the men are true and brave. 

And women nice to look on: 
Perhaps there' d be a chance for me 

When I come out, to "hook on." 

But I'm too fast, IVe been "caught on — " 

Her eyes and hair are black; 
I guess I better here go slow — 

I think I'll take it back. 

And now this matter all set right. 

This letter must go 'long; 
Perchance a letter it may prove — 

It may turn out a song. 
We used to fish when we were boys 



152 PICTORIAL 

In little streams and brooks: 
And yanked the festive sun-fish out 
With our small minnow hooks. 

But when I go to Oregon 

For health and strength and fun, 

I do not think I'll catch a fish 
That weighs less than a ton. 

Of course I won't — when I set out 

I scarcely ever fail; 
The first time that I cast my hook 

I'll land a monster whale. 

And when I land my whale on shore, 
You'll swear you could not beat it:- 

We'U just sit down and rest a bit^ 
And while we're resting eat it. 

Then if our hunger is not stayed 
We'll soon resume our lark; 

rU bait my hook and try again — 
And bait it for a shark. 

And when I've laid his sharkship out 

Upon the beach to dry, 
We'll finish then our little meal — 

Or know the reason why. 



PICTORIAL 153 

And after we had dined our fill 

And stroked our bellies down, 
WeM have a smoke to "settle things," 

Then view the landscape 'round. 

We'd roam the hills and valleys o'er 

And dabble in the streams; 
Just as we used to do of yore, 

Remember' d now in dreams. 

We'd climb the highest peaks that be, 

Up to their rocky crest; 
And feel anew that joyous thrill — 

Youth planted in our breast. 

It would not be the same old scenes, 

In youth we loved so well; 
The mountain peaks are higher far, 

And deeper down the dells. 

The little lakes and pools we loved, 

Remembered with emotion, 
Are only little drops compared 

With grand Pacific ocean. 

But with the grandeur of these scenes 

Beyond the "Sierras' " crest, 
We'd ne'er forget those of our youth, 



154 PICTORIAL 

The scenes we love the best. 

And then we'd wander to the plains 
With fragrant flowers so rife, 

Where sweet perfume distilled in air 
Gives relish unto life. 

How sweet 'twould be if all our paths 
But wound among the flowers; 

If all our days and all our nights 
Were passed in summer bowers. 

But such is not. Earth has its cares 
For every child that's born; 

The rose may bloom for some of us, 
For all of us a thorn. 

So thus united we would tramp 
The hills and valleys o'er; 

And resting, tell our joys and griefs 
On broad Pacific shores. 

And as her towering billows lashed 
And beat upon the strand: 

We'd stand as in our youth we stood, 
As brothers, hand in hand. 



HUMORISTIC 



HUMORISTIC. 

CARVING A CHRISTMAS DUCK. 

Since olden time the quacking goose 
Has graced the Christmas dinner, 

Has tickled palates great and small 
Of saint and hungry sinner. 

And though a goose saved ancient Rome, 
One night, from being taken, 

A goose must roast at Christmas-time — 
There's naught can save his "bacon". 

To neighbor Brown's upon this day 
Came Deacon Green and wife, 

They'd neighbors been from day to day 
Since starting o^t in life. 

The twain were here for Christmas Cheer 

By special invitation, 
And Duck replaced the ancient Goose — 

A glaring innovation. 
157 



158 HUMORISTIC 

5 The good wife did her part so well, 

All joined full praise to render; 
She said a novice from the smell 

Would know the bird was tender: 
"Now, Pa, the carvin' you must do. 

You always have such luck — 
There's not a man can ekei you 

A carvin' of a duck." 

6 "You're always right, my wife," said he, 

"For me 'tis only play 
To carve a duck as it should be, 

On this good Christmas-day: 
I turn him thus — the fork stick here 

(Ah! he's a noble chap) 
O, I can carve a duck, my dear — 

What is that in my lap? 
If 'taint that duck, then these old eyes 

Are blinder than a bat! 
And on my Sunday garment lies 

A pint or more of "fat." 
I never before had any such luck — 
Is there any one present will tackle this duck? 

7 "That duck can surely be carved; 

There's nothing like knowing just how." 



HUMORISTIC 159 

Thus spake their son Ebenezer, 

And rose with a Chesterfield bow. 
"Remember that carving takes skill, 

And also much 'siner* and nerve; 
You place the fork here with a will — 

The knife give a beautiful curve; 
The'n bring it down thus — do you see? 

When off comes a beautiful wing; 
O, 'carvin" a duck may be hard for some — 

To i?te it's a very soft thing — 
But some fellows never can do it; 

Of this I have told you before — 

Jupiter! somebody help me — 
That duck has slid out on the floor! 

1 never before had any such luck; 

Just show me a man that will tackle this duck." 

8 "Here is the man can carve that duck, 
Just give me leave to try," 
Quoth Deacon Hezekiah Green, 
"Or know the reason why; 
For forty years or more 

I've carved on this great Festal-day, 
Yet never has a goose or bird 
From these hands slipped away. 



^„ 



IGO HUMORISTIC 

Some boast of 'nerve/ and some on 'skill/ 

I 'bank' most on my grip; 
When well caught on I can't let go — 

I never let'er slip; 
I bring my weight of sixteen stone 

Upon the Roast to bear — 
Lord bless my eyes! what have I done? 

That duck's high in the air; 
I never knew such 'tarnal' luck — 

If I had my gun I'd shoot that duck!" 

9 "I du declare," said sister Green, 

"The Dekin's gone and dun it; 
I know'd jest heow it would turn aout 

The minit he begun it. 
Here, I will carve that 'bird,' or die 

Before I'm one hour older — " 
The fork went in, the knife rose high — 

The duck — lit on her shoulder! 
"Alackady! he won't come down — 

He's gone to roost," quoth neighbor Brown. 

10 Now sister Brown was seen to rise 
Chock full of indignation; 

A gleam of fire was in her eyes — 



HUMORISTIC 161 



Her bosom showed inflation 
One hand she gripped upon a leg 

And then the knife stuck in it, 
And every mouth was full of duck 

In just one "holy" minute. 



THE DOCTORS. 

There's the doctor so learned 

In our aches and our ills, 
Gets fees all the same, 

If he cures or he kills — 
O! the magical power, 

In his tonics and pills. 

We swallow his doses 

As told to the letter, 
One time it may kill us, 

The next we get better — 
The fee's just the same. 

For this leg and bone-setter. 

If dead — the Lord only could save us 
Alive — it's because of the dose that he gave us. 
So it's no great odds 
To you or to me, 



162 . HUMORISTIC 

If we die or get well, 
We are in for the fee, 

Which often is larger 
Than fees ought to be. 

Now here's a great truth 
I'm most happy to tell; — 

In spite of the doctors, 
Some people get well: 

A theme upon which 
I'd be happy to dwell, 

And vice-versa 

As none can deny, 

The doctors are aiding 
Great numbers to die — 

And the innocent victims 
Give out not a cry. 



I'll never— O! O! Jane 

Do get on a hurry 
And fly in great haste 

For good Dr. Murry, 
And ask him if once 

In his life he will hurry, 



HUMORISTIC 163 

He's a dandy old fellow, 

And knows all his P's, 
And will take the kinks out, 

With the greatest of ease: — 
Tell him Pm sick from my head 

Clear down to my knees. 

And tell him it's likely 

A twist of the gizzard: 
It's whirling around 

As wild as a blizzard, 
And squirming and twisting 

Like unto a lizard. 

Jane, I guess I'm listed 
For an angel — how that twisted 
Great Scott! I cannot draw a breath: 
Jane, do tell me, is that death? 

Oh! Jane, I never knew before 
The awful pangs the martyrs bore: 
What is it ails me! can't you tell? — 
I never had so bad a spell. 

Can't you find a soothing lotion 
That will calm this wild, commotion, 
Swelling, surging like the ocean, 



164 HUMORISTIC 



Underneath my belt? 
Bring the camphor, paragoric 
'Ugh! I'm awful, awful sick — 
What you give me, give me quick, 

Worse than this I never felt. 

This is a terrible disaster — 
Can't you move a little faster? 
Let us try a mustard plaster 

Or a poultice made of bread; 
Anything you have that's handy — 
Peppermint or H. H. candy, 
Tho' a templar, I'll try brandy, 

Better drunk than being dead. 

Anything — no matter what. 
Give it freezing or red hot: 
I do believe La Grippe I've got 

Or something twice as bad — 
O! I long to rest my stomach, 
Just across a log or hummock 
As I used to do at Lummock, 

When a very little lad. 

Yes I feel the same old shiver, 
That shook my lights and liver. 
Eating plums down by the river, 



HUMORISTIC 165 

In the years that's gone before: — 
Ah! I'll bet you a bright nickel, 
By the way my insides tickle, 
It is that infernal pickle ■ 

Which I ate and called for more. 



Now Pm feeling rather better, 
You can tell that old bone-setter — 
That fee and money getter, 

That he can go to pot. 
O! I feel so light and airy, 
Something like a giddy fairy, 
And I think, by the Old Harry, 

'Twas the brandy hit the "spot." 

A lesson I would render 

To my readers of each gender — 

Those of age and years that's tender- 

'Tis an old familiar "saw" — 
When a man is going under 
And his ears begin to thunder 
He will try and get from "under," 

If he has to grab a "straw." 



166 HUMORISTIC 

DEACON HUFF! 

A SCHOOL EPISODE. 

One evening, as the clock chimed eight, 
Luke Miller sat before the grate; 
While in the room and all about 
The children held a merry rout 
That drove all thought of sleeping out. 

Now Luke well loved those girls and boys 

Nor cared a fig for all this noise: 

Their pranks and jokes all failed to shock — 

They're "chips" thought he from the old "block, 

And all this boisterous fun and clatter 

But bro't to mind a little matter 

To please the children he'd relate 

While sitting there before the grate. 

"Come, children, gather 'bout the fire 
And hear a story from your sire 
When he was young and pretty tough, 
And went to skule to Deacon Huff, 
Who wasn't always up to snuff. 

Your pa, my dears, was not a fule. 
Them airly days he went to skule, 
Tho' at the foot most, as a rule. 



HUMORISTJC 167 

In reading he was no great shake, 

But spellin' he could claim the cake, 

And he was 'bout as full of fun 

As any boy that walked or run; 

And with that bright-eyed little miss, 

Whom forty times or more he'd k — 

O bless me! here's your ma — as I was saying, 

A trick we planned on teacher playing: 

Now Deacon Huff had such a nose; 

As only on a deacon grows: 

'Twas broad, an' thick, an' red, an' long, 

And sounded like a dinner gong : 

'Twas red an' blue about the border, 

And did sometimes get out of order. 

Now Miss Van Witter told the teacher, * 

With face as strait as any preacher. 

That she was very, very sure 

That she could put him on a cure 

Would clear that nose and make it ring. 

As flute-like as a bird in spring; 

So she advised good Deacon Huff 

To take a pinch or two of snuff. 

And to be sure to take enough. 



168 HUMORISTIC 

You orter heard the deacon sneeze; 
The first one bro't him to his knees: 
The next, with mouth extended wide, 
He flopped clear over on his side; 
The third, with one exhaustive roar, 
Prostrate he lay upon the floor. 

Just then I looked at Miss Van Witter: 
She laughed until it almost split 'er: 
She laughed 'till she could laugh no more, 
And then fell sprawl in' on the floor, 
And laughed agin 'till she was sore: 
And I too laughed until I cried 
And pains went shooting through my side. 

Here lay the deacon loudly wheezing, 

Between each breath he kept on sneezing; 

And Miss Van Witter shaking yet — 

I couldn't stand, so down I set; 

And then I laughed like her but longer. 

The more I laughed I went it stronger: 

I laughed until I didn't see 

Just how I found the Deacon's knee — 

But I was there — Ah me, Ah me! 

Your pa was there and can't forget 

The painful scene he passed through yet: 



HUMORISTIC 169 

As master's hand the air passed through, 
Great Scott! tho't I, what shall I do? 
And then I tho't of Miss Van Witter, 
And of the Deacon as a "hitter"; 
An' wondered if she too would rest 
Across the knee my bosom pressed: 
An' if her yells an' shrieks an' cries, 
Like MINE, would pierce the very skies; 
And if she'd feel from head to crown 
As tho' she never could sit down. 
******** 
Again the Deacon had his fun; 
Once more the "circus" had begun: 
And as his hand was fresh applied 
In minor strains that damsel cried: 
O teacher, teacher, dear Deacon Huff, 
Lay on no more, I've had enough — 
I'm sorry now I gave you snuff. 
And now my story has been told: 
Your pa, my dears, was badly sold, 
And can't forget that little muff 
He held that day with Deacon Huff: 
And Miss Van Witter, I suppose, 
Will never forget the Deacon's nose: 
Ah Deakin Huff that hard old "hitter" 
Will sneeze if you but say Van Witter. 



170 * HUMORISTIC 

"THAT SURPLUS " 

The "Surplus" a hundred million or more, 
A thing he had never heard of before, 

And he felt bad about it. 
Some was squeezed from the sons of Toil 
Some was "fried" from the lords of "Oil" 
And some from the tillers of the soil, 

And he felt bad about it. 

That "surplus" grew like Jonah's gourd, 
And some he feared went overboard, 

And. he felt bad about it. 
It was no good just lying there. 
With countless children cold and bare 
Who ought to feel the nation's care. 

And he felt bad about it. 

When Congress met, each day by day. 
That surplus gently slid away — 

And he felt bad about it; 
Each soldier's widow had her "mite; " 
The batter'd Vet'rans got a "bite," 
That made their loyal hearts feel light — 

And he felt bad about it. 

Suppose some wicked nation now, 



HUM ORIS TIC 171 



With "Jonathan" should raise a row 

And he felt bad about it; 
And then suppose they'd make a "dash"- 
Find "Uncle Samuel" short of cash — 
How everything would go to smash — 

And he felt bad about it. 



BY TAM BUT I ISH MAD. 

My lager beer ish gone, I fear, 

By tam but I ish mad: 
Bad tay for me I crossed the sea, 

I vished I never had. 

In Sharmana ve all agree 

To drink him all ve hold: 
Mein Cott! its goot for drink or foot, 

In hot tays and in cold. 

And when mine vife, mine darling vife 

Has pabies, as she vill, 
Ve -can't fill up der foaming cup. 

Because dey's stopped der still. 

O! I ish mad, mine heart is sad, 



172 HUMORISTIC 

I feel shust awful queer: 
I cannot eat mine pread and meat 
Mitout mine glass of peer. 

Come, Fritz, my boy, your fadder's joy, 

I nix can stay here more: 
I can't be free mitout mine spree, 

On dis tam Yankee shore. 

Mine vrow, be shmart, dish tay ve shtart 
For our dear native Rhine: 

Ve vill not stay von oder tay, 
Mitout our peer and vine. 



THE TENDER-FOOT AND THE CACTUS. 

A cushion of velvety softness I found. 

Upholstered in beautiful green; 
It spread so invitingly over the ground — 

A couch for a Fairy or Queen. 
Ah! well I recall the identical spot 

I chose me for rest and repose — 
O! Jupiter Caesar! but wasn't it hot — 

That cactus right under my — nose. 



HUMORISriC l'i'3 

1 ne'er can forget what I thought as I sat 

And prayed to be lighter than air; 
A million of needles pierced into the "fat" — 

How I wished some one else had been there. 

May be as a "flower" 'tis a beautiful thing — 

Has many fine "points" of the rose; 
But I found all the "points" of a bee in its sting: 

When it got to "work" under my clothes. 



HOW LARRY GOT A DRINK. 

Say, Patrick, I'm thirsty, and nade a sweet drink, 
Av the liquid we loved in auld Erin's dear Isle, 

I,m so dhry, if a barrel, the hoops would fall off me; 
A mcnth has gone by since I had me last "smile." 

I went to the drugstore; the mon with the Mortar, 
Just lifted his specs and gazed square in me face; 

I felt in me pocket, and flipped him a quarter, 
And said, me dear sor, is that to yer taste? 

He shook his wise head, and it set me to thinking 
What I heard the byes say would insure me success. 



174 



HUMORISTIC 

So I laned on the counter an' kept up a "winking" 
For full half an hour, as I'm sad to confess. 

Now, Patrick, plase tell, an' ye love your friend Larry, 
The course to pursue whin me stomach is dhry. 

And V\ wish ye long life wid the girl that ye marry. 
An' stick to ye close as a friend till I die. 

Why, Larry, me darlint, jist skip to the doctor. 
And tell how your liver and stomach are quaking. 

He'll write a nate note to the mon with the Mortar, 
For midcine sich as is pleasure in taking. 

Says I to the doctor: I'm plazed that I mate ye, 
Me stomach is arful and all in a quiver; 

Yis, doctor, indade am I happy to grate ye. 
An' ask ye, me dear, to prescribe for me liver. 

Now, Patrick, me friend, that same doctor's a daisy; 

He gave me a note to the mon with the Mortar, 
An, now "be the Moses" me stomach is aisy. 

An' the >^ pint jist cost me the mite of a quarter. 

THE END 









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